


Beauty From Pain

by GypsyDream



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Draco Loves Tattoos, Drunk Blaise, F/M, Fluff, He should be a warning tbh, Hurt/Comfort, Magical Tattoos, Not Epilogue Compliant, Tattoo Artist Hermione, Tattoos, like a lot, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 83,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26764816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GypsyDream/pseuds/GypsyDream
Summary: After the War, Hermione found a way to create beauty from pain. She joined magic and ink to create living tattoos. Can she set aside the past to help Draco find beauty in his seemingly inescapable pain?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 130
Kudos: 253





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey party people! We're back!
> 
> It's been four months since I started rewriting BFP, and I gotta say I feel a lot better about it. I love Younger Me, but she wrote like ADHD was her only personality trait. I swear. But we're ready to go again! Thank you to everyone who posted comments and reviews of support, you guys are the reason I keep writing and your words mean so much <3
> 
> I've got several chapters already typed and ready to go, so I'm going to try and stick to a weekly update on Thursdays. This way I can keep writing and hopefully stay on top of things this time around. I feel like I've got a better grasp of character voices and plot direction this time around, but the heart of the story hasn't changed. You'll probably recognize a few things although they are hopefully better written, make more sense, and flow a little better.
> 
> I'm so excited to get started again, so here's Beauty From Pain: Take 2: Chapter 1! And as always, let me know what you guys think! Love to you all!

It had started out simply enough, although the most complicated things in life usually do.

After the Final Battle at Hogwarts, Hermione had worked tirelessly on reconstruction alongside Harry, Ron, and all the other survivors. She had pushed aside the chaos in her mind and her heart so she could focus on the spell-work needed for so much rebuilding, but when they had finished the chaos crept back in. So entirely overwhelmed by the emotional turmoil, the nightmares, and the pain, Hermione had left the magical world and hidden herself away in a quiet corner of Muggle London. Perhaps, she had thought, taking a break from all things magical would be good for her, at least for a little while. 

It had been purely by chance that she had stumbled upon that particular tattoo parlor on that particularly rainy day.

She had heard of and even seen tattoos while living with her muggle parents, but had never given them a second thought until that day. At first, she had wanted to keep her battle scars - reminders of what she had survived and what she had conquered. The crude, jagged carving of ‘mudblood’ on her forearm was a reminder that she was more than her blood, more than where she came from or what she had been through. But if that were the case, she was more than her scars wasn’t she?

And so she had gotten them covered; she allowed something beautiful to blossom from something that had been so painful for so long. The tattoo, which was only supposed to be a few flowers, ended up becoming a mosaic of flora on her forearm that spread over her arm and brushed the top of her shoulder. It was the artist’s fault, really. Watching the flowers come to life on her skin had been entirely hypnotizing, and when he had tried to stop she had insisted he was to keep going. The ever curious part of her watched in fascination and itched to learn such an incredible craft.

She befriended the tattoo artist and even apprenticed there for a while, building a portfolio that impressed all of her clients, but her never-resting brain kept thinking of the endless possibilities. And so she became fully immersed into the muggle tattoo world. She wasn’t hiding from the magical world. Hermione Granger didn’t hide, but she was certainly enjoying her sabbatical. The small part of her, the young girl whose childhood was stolen and who feared ever returning to a place full of so many bad memories, she wished to stay safe among the muggles. But it wasn’t enough, and she missed the ones she’d left behind.

It began with drawings, sketches of designs that might move or might glow; fanciful things that Hermione assured her new friends were merely creative imaginings. Then came the runes, the arithmancy formulas, and the patent rough drafts that swiftly overtook every available surface of her tiny apartment. Before she knew it, she had everything she could need to venture back into the Wizarding World and open her own shop. Perhaps a part of her had known that she couldn’t stay away forever; that working at someone else’s shop wouldn’t be enough for her. 

She was gone for nearly three years before she finally found the strength to go back.

Hermione told her muggle friends that she had family who needed her which wasn’t entirely a lie. The survivors of the Battle at Hogwarts had become a family to her, and she missed them desperately. She hadn’t packed up her belongings though and decided to keep her muggle flat in London. Having someplace she could escape to would make returning to the wizarding world a little easier -- at least she hoped it would.

Finding a place to rent in Diagon Alley had been surprisingly easy. Although she had fairly low standards and took the first place she found, at least she found a place quickly.

She felt a grimace pull at her face as she gazed up at the building.

It was, in a word, dilapidated. The front door barely hung upon it’s hinges, leaning too far to the right within its frame and allowing slivers of the shadows beyond to peek through. Dust and grime clouded the front windows beyond the point of being able to see through them, a colony of spiders nesting in the shaded corners. Compared to the rest of Diagon Alley, the storefront was rather small and tucked away between the other shops. She had walked past it at least twice before she realized the glorified hole-in-the-wall was hers. The ad which claimed it was “quaint” and “charming” was so far past misleading it was almost unscrupulous. They had overcharged her for a broken down shack.

‘But it’s mine,’ she thought with a small smile. Clutching the key a little tighter, she let out a heavy breath and tried to shake herself of her jitters. 

It felt like a movie moment, sliding the key into the lock of her first shop and opening the door to new possibilities. Inspirational music playing in the background, and a wise voice narrating, and...

The key was jammed. 

She huffed in frustration and jiggled the lock. The key wouldn’t budge, the lock wouldn’t turn. She swore she could see flecks of rust falling from the handle as she tried to force the lock to release her key. The door groaned, as if laughing at her weak attempts to gain entry. For such a seemingly ramshackle slab of wood it was being surprisingly resilient.

She grabbed the key with both hands, braced one foot against the door, and grumbled lowly, “Give me back my key, evil door. You’re interrupting. My. Moment.” She punctuated her last sentence with sharp tugs until the key finally slid free. She raised it triumphantly in the air. “Ha! Take that, evil door.” 

Glancing around furtively, she remembered she was in the middle of the Alley and blushed lightly in embarrassment. She glared at the door as though it were to blame for its lack of cooperation and whipped out her wand. The magic raced up her arm causing her fingertips to tingle and a wave of pleasure to dance down her spine. It had been too long, the magic felt like a reunion under her skin. Her unlocking spell snapped through her vine wood wand like a crack of lightning and effortlessly released the troublesome lock.

Oh how she had missed magic. 

Sighing blissfully and gripping her wand tight, she tentatively entered the shop and immediately went into a coughing fit from the pounds of dust that entered her lungs.

“Dear Merlin,” she wheezed out and blinked rapidly to try and dispel her tears. 

When she was finally able to see properly, she looked around and sighed. She certainly had her work cut out for her.

The building looked as though it had been abandoned longer than she had been alive. Paint was coming off the walls in sheets, at least she hoped it was paint and not the walls themselves. As she walked further inside, her steps caused layers of dust to rise up around her. The balls of dust on the floor were big enough to pay rent. She closed her eyes for a long moment to try and remind herself to see past the grime, past the endless list of repairs, and to see the future the building was capable of. She had handled worse.

Opening her eyes, a small smile began to make its way onto her face. She could see it.

The counter, the office, and the artwork. She could see the customers and hear the faint buzzing of working equipment. A laugh bubbled up from her chest until it finally broke free, a carefree sound she hadn’t made in a long time. A laugh full of excitement and hope. 

If the shop didn’t manage to kill her first, as it had been trying to do all morning, then she would finally be able to take steps towards the future. A good future. A future she, and only she, was in control of. She could feel her excitement bubbling under her skin and hoped from foot to foot, a wide grin filling her face.

“This place is just full of charm, isn’t it?”

Whipping around to face her visitors, Hermione’s grin nearly split her cheeks.

Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood stood in her doorway.

She barreled towards them and nearly knocked them over with the weight of her hug. The sound of their laughter echoed in her ears and made her heart swell.

“Oh I’ve missed you both so much!”

“We’ve missed you too, Hermione.” Luna brushed her thumb against Hermione’s cheeks and wiped away the tears she hadn’t known she was crying. “Three years is far too long.”

“It certainly was,” Ginny agreed. She roughly rubbed the palm of her hand against her eyes to hide her own tears. “Are you back for good?”

Hermione held up the store key and said, “I most certainly am.”

“And you’re opening a what-shop again?”

“Tattoo shop.” Hermione brushed some hair out of her face and looked around the empty room. “Hopefully it won’t take too much work, but this place will eventually be a place people can get designs permanently etched into their skin.”

“Muggles are crazy,” Ginny muttered before giving Hermione a smirk. “I had better be your first customer.”

“And I second!” Luna hopped over next to Ginny, ignoring the small clouds of dust she left in her wake.

“What are you going to call it?” Ginny asked.

“It needs a good name,” Luna said thoughtfully. “Something meaningful and memorable.”

Hermione gazed at the two of them, her heart happy to finally have them with her again. They were the best friends she could ask for; kind, loving, and so strong. They had survived so much together.

“Virago.”

They both looked at her, confused by her sudden answer.

She grinned. “Virago. Women who demonstrate exemplary and heroic qualities.” 

“Oh, I think I know a few of those,” Luna said excitedly.

—..—

Hermione’s shop had been open for a few months, the name Virago slowly becoming more popular among the younger wizards and witches in Britain. Granted, she hadn’t been very well received in the beginning, but having Ginny and Luna as her first customers had given her shop the fame she unfortunately needed.

The Prophet had been very quiet at first; no one was very interested in a muggle tattoo shop opening up. When they had found out Hermione ran it, they had immediately run stories about where she had been over the last three years, conveniently forgetting to mention Virago at all. Very reluctantly, she had called Ginny and Luna and asked for their help. A few good reviews to the press had turned into several tattoos, and before she knew it her friends had almost as many as she did.

Ginny’s first tattoo had been one of her favorites. A small inking on her inner wrist, Fred’s name curled around exploding fireworks. They swirled and changed colors in a way muggles could never achieve, but the part Hermione was most proud of was the fact that “Fred” slowly changed into “Gred” and back again. It had been an incredibly emotional day and ended with both girls crying in the back office over glasses of wine; Hermione wouldn’t trade it for the world.

After that, her shop became more and more popular. Eventually she was able to have several appointments a day which thankfully kept her too busy to worry about what the Prophet was saying about her. Some of the rumors were truly outrageous.

_“War Heroine Back From Saving Lives Abroad”_

_“Granger Abandoned Friends And Family”_

_“Golden Girl: Secret Romance?”_

It was truly ridiculous what lengths the reporters would go to. It almost made her wonder what horrible articles they had written while she was gone. About poor Harry, Ginny, Ron...

She shook herself out of her thoughts when she heard the faint tinkling of the bell over the door. “Be with you in a moment,” she shouted and quickly finished wiping down the counter. Using the towel to dry off her hands, she walked out into the front room and froze.

Theodore Nott was standing in her shop.

They stared at each other for several moments, both looking surprised at seeing the other. Her thoughts raced through her head, all of them confused over why he would be standing in her shop of all places.

Theodore was, in her books, one of the good Slytherins to come out of Hogwarts. During the battles, he had stayed in the dungeons protecting the younger students and trying to comfort them as best he could. Despite the fact he had been marked just like his father, he had decided against fighting with the Death Eaters, and that redeemed him in her eyes. But they had never spoken before or had any interactions while in school, so why on earth was he standing in her shop?

She decided to be blunt. 

“What can I do for you, Mr. Nott?”

He flinched lightly at the way she addressed him and let his gaze drift to the floor. “I apologize, I didn’t realize this was _your_ shop.”

She frowned; that didn’t answer her question.

“It is. Did you come here to make an appointment?”

Theodore looked everywhere but at her and his fingers tapped a swift rhythm against his leg. She could feel his anxiety from across the room.

“I did,” he finally said. “However, I understand if you would prefer not to have people like me here.”

“People like you?”

He didn’t hesitate to say, “Death Eaters.”

She nodded her head, a grim expression creasing her eyebrows into a frown. “While I would prefer not to have certain patronage in my shop, I think a few exceptions can be made considering.”

He looked up at her sharply. “Considering?”

“You protected the children,” she said simply. “Actions speak louder than words, in my opinion.” She glanced at his left arm. “Louder than marks as well.”

“Then you can...?” His question trailed off, but the rueful look he gave his left arm told her everything.

She took a few hesitant steps towards him. “I haven’t tried before,” she said carefully. “That kind of magic is… difficult. But I’m more than willing to try.”

Theodore nodded solemnly; her willingness to try was a better response than he had anticipated. “I am willing to try most anything to get rid of it.”

“Well you’re in luck,” she said with a soft smile. “I’m appointment free this afternoon, so we can sit down and plan out the kind of designs and colors you would like to use. Then we can see what spell work might be needed.”

“You can do whatever design you like.”

His answer startled her. “You don’t want to decide for yourself?”

“No.” He shook his head firmly. “I don’t care what you paint on me; I just want it gone.” His voice was firm but the defeated tone underneath made her heart ache.

“Would you mind if I ask a few questions then, to give me an idea of what would be fitting?”

He shook his head again, but she could see the hesitance both in the movement and in his gaze.

“They aren’t not too personal,” she promised. “For example, what’s your favorite color?”

Theodore’s brow twitched in surprise but a small smile curved the corner of his lips. “Green.”

A surprised laugh escaped her before Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh I’m so sorry!”

Theodore’s smile spread wider. “I know, it’s horribly cliche.”

“No, no, it’s a lovely color.” She giggled quietly behind her hand.

“Not Slytherin green, if that makes it any better. I prefer a more subdued shade, like an olive.”

“Oh yes, of course. That’s much better.” She tried to hide her smile and nod seriously, but she could feel the corners of her mouth twitching. She cleared her throat and began rummaging around in her front desk for a spare sketchbook; she had them scattered all over the shop for just this kind of occasion. “Do you have any hobbies?"

“Mostly just reading.” He watched her all but disappear behind the large book she pulled out and tried not to laugh at her furiously concentrating expression. “I enjoy potion making but was never as good as you or Draco.”

She hummed quietly in acknowledgment and worked to try and quickly capture the image forming in her head. “Any favorite authors?”

He pursed his lips and frowned slightly. “That’s a hard choice; there are a lot of good ones. If I had to choose, right now at least, probably Viridian, Carneiro, or Shakespeare.”

Hermione’s head snapped up. “You’ve read Shakespeare?”

Theodore chuckled at how shocked she sounded. “Yes, I have. It’s believed he was a squib.”

“Interesting.” Her mind wandered for a moment over the possibilities of a magical Romeo and Juliet. A lot of his writing would make more sense if his parents had… She shook her head and focused back on Theodore. Right, well, I think I have a decent idea.” She squinted at her sketch and tried to resist the urge to scrap it and start over. “But I’d like a little longer to work on it and make sure. Do you have time later this evening, or do we need to schedule an appointment for a later date?

“Unfortunately I have to meet with colleagues for dinner.” He frowned at the clock on her wall. “But I can make time tomorrow if you are available?”

She smiled at his reluctance to leave. “Tomorrow should work just fine. A tattoo this size will require a bit of time to complete. I can send you an owl later today so we can arrange a time.”

“Thank you, Granger.”

“Please, call me Hermione.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I got a little excited and wanted to go ahead and post the second chapter. But after that I'm sticking to the Thursday schedule! Routine is important! But here's chapter two early because I love you guys!

Theodore was struggling to keep his thoughts to himself.

Normally such a thing was easy, especially when he was having dinner with Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy. Blaise loved to hear himself talk and could easily hold an entire conversation by himself, with Draco adding in his sarcastic comments. He was usually content to listen as Blaise elaborately described his latest conquest or wild tale, wondering quite often how his friend was still alive.

But today, Theodore wanted nothing more than to talk.

The weight of his appointment with Hermione sat heavy in his mouth, begging him to tell his friends what he had found. Someone could cover their dark marks; such a thing was unheard of and utterly life-changing. Unfortunately, that person was one Hermione Granger - known Gryffindor Golden Girl and sworn nemesis to everyone wearing green and silver. Blaise had never seemed to care either way about her; he had been too caught up in his plans to shag every girl of passable attraction at Hogwarts. But Draco?

Draco had hated Hermione with a passion.

A passion that Theodore had always wondered about. He would never say such a thing out loud, but he had always thought Draco’s hatred had stemmed from a jealousy and respect for an enemy of equal intellect and skill. Such praise would never have been voiced, but he had seen it in the looks Draco gave her when she would say something especially clever or cast a spell particularly well.

Whether or not such begrudging respect existed, neither man would probably believe him if he told them about his recent visit. And if they did believe him, he could scarcely imagine the tantrums they would throw.

“Oi, Theo, are you even listening?”

He glanced up at Blaise who was looking rather indignant.

“Sorry, mate, I was lost in thought.”

“When are you not?” Draco asked rhetorically.

Theo gave him a wholly unimpressed look. “It’s not as if you two ever talk about anything truly important.”

Blaise gave an indignant shout. “How can you say that? Everything I talk about is important! And I was just getting to the good part.”

“I’m fairly certain I could miss at least half of your stories and still be certain of the fact that you are most likely the easiest man in Wizarding Britain.”

“I prefer ‘Most Amorous Wizard’, thank you very much,” Blaise retorted loftily.

Draco raised his drink to toast Blaise’s new title. “Only you could find an elegant way to call yourself a man-whore.”

“Thank you?”

Theo rolled his eyes. “Forgive me for ignoring you, Blaise. I hadn’t realized you held such a lofty position in the eyes of women. Please, do continue.”

Blaise gave him a cocky grin. “I will, thank you.”

Draco flagged down the waitress, already knowing he would need another drink if he had to listen to Blaise’s stories a second time.

“Well you remember that witch I took home last week? The one with the loveliest pair of —”

“Blue eyes?”

Blaise glared at Theo. “Sure, the blue eyes. Well last night,” he drawled with a conspiratorial grin. “I picked up a witch at the bar who was all too eager to come home with me. Thankfully, I convinced her we should go back to her place.”

“Because if they knew where you lived, one of them would have absolutely murdered you by now.” Draco gave him a look daring him to disagree.

“It’s just a bit of bachelor wisdom,” Blaise said trying to defend himself. “You never bring a bird back to your place before at least the third date.”

Theo shook his head. “The way your mind works, Blaise. It baffles me.”

“As I was saying,” Blaise said loudly, “we went back to her place. We were… getting better acquainted,” he said with a wink which made Draco groan. “But we were interrupted when her mother unexpectedly came home.”

“That’s always a mood killer,” Theo said with a wince. A small part of him was nervous for where this story was headed. Knowing Blaise, nothing was off the table.

“Normally it would be - that’s usually when I try to make a graceful exit. But as I was searching for my discarded belt, I got a good look at her mother and realized she looked extremely familiar.”

“No.” Theo shook his head, his facial expression stuck somewhere between horrified and entertained. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” Blaise laughed. “Her mother was the witch with the blue eyes from last week!”

The three of them began shouting over top of each other from both disappointment and excitement, loud enough to draw the attention of most of the other patrons in the restaurant. The waitress came back to make sure everything was alright, gave them their check, and left after being properly wooed by Blaise.

“You’re incorrigible,” Theo laughed, shaking his head in amazement.

“Don’t worry, Theo,” Blaise said with a sly grin. “I’ll continue to let you live vicariously through me and my incredible tales of conquests.”

“How kind of you.”

Draco tossed a few galleons on the table and rose to leave. “Are we still on for tomorrow afternoon?”

Blaise gave the waitress a lascivious look. “If I’m not otherwise occupied.”

“By tomorrow afternoon?” Draco gave him a disappointed look. “That would just be bad manners. Theo?”

“I will be otherwise engaged,” he said apologetically.

“With a witch, by chance?” Blaise wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, but Draco cut him off with a chuckle.

“Please, Blaise, he’s the most well-behaved one of the three of us. If he has a date, it would be with a bookstore.”

Theo didn’t correct him, and allowed them to continue making jokes at his expense. Better they believe he was at a bookstore rather than Hermione’s tattoo shop.

—..—

Hermione was quite proud of the design she had created for Theodore’s tattoo. Her trash can was littered with discarded ideas and there was a distinct cramp in her right hand, but it was well worth it. She couldn’t help but smile at the drawing on her desk.

Quotes from Shakespeare, written in elegant script on what looked to be rolls of parchment, wove through leaves of rosemary and eucalyptus. She had chosen those plants specifically for their healing properties and uses in restorative potions. They were also a lovely shade of perfectly non-Slytherin green. Hermione planned to spell the ink of the quotes so they would fade and be replaced with new ones every so often, the words carefully writing themselves down his arm as though by an invisible quill. She had hastily written a few of her favorite quotes from Shakespeare at the bottom of the page to show him:

_“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.”_

_“Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.”_

Hopefully he was as much a fan of Shakespeare as she was. The quotes, if her spells worked properly, could be changed and updated later as he chose.

She scoffed quietly. Her spells always worked properly.

But if she was being entirely honest with herself, she had a few doubts going into this appointment. As confident as she was in her magical abilities, the thought of working to cover the dark mark made her feel very uneasy. The dark magic Voldemort had used was still largely unexplored and unknown which could make trying to cover it very difficult. She had investigated Theodore’s forearm extensively before he had left the day before, but there was no real way of knowing if this would work until they tried it. Such unpredictable, experimental magic was something Hermione would have approved of in school, but she had experienced the relief of having her war scars covered up, and she couldn’t deny someone that feeling simply because she was nervous.

So she had tackled the magic head on.

Breaking down every component of what she knew of protean charms and dark marks had been as easy as breathing. Research was something she would never tire of, and although there wasn’t a lot of information at her finger tips, Hermione was able to come to her own conclusions and solutions fairly quickly, if she said so herself.

Thankfully, from what she could tell, most of the dark magic in Theodore’s forearm had faded after the death of Voldemort. The cruel black had faded to scar tissue over time until it resembled Hermione’s ‘mudblood’ scar: rough, pink skin and white veins of cursed skin running over his arm.

It would hurt, Hermione knew this from experience. Her own scar had felt like she was setting her arm on fire from the inside out when she had tried to get it covered the first time. Powering through, she had managed the three sessions it took to finally hide the scar tissue completely. She hoped, for Theodore’s sake, it would be less painful for him.

The sensible side of her brain highly doubted it.

Hermione tried to hide her apprehension behind a smile when Theodore came into her shop the next morning, but she knew it was painted clearly across her face. She had never been good at hiding her emotions. Certainly not on the same level as a Slytherin; Theodore looked so calm she almost wondered if he had forgotten what they were about to do.

“Should I be worried that you are so nervous?”

She blushed slightly and tried to sound reassuring. “No, I’m fairly confident in my abilities and the research I’ve done.” She chewed on her thumbnail and sighed; it was probably best to be honest with him. “I’m worried it will be quite painful.”

He nodded calmly, though she noticed a hint of apprehension in his gaze. “I assumed as much.”

“And you still want to do it?”

“Of course.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and said, “I know we were never friendly in school, but I saw enough to know I can trust you.”

Hermione’s eyes widened comically. A Slytherin trusting her was not something she ever thought could happen. “You do?”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “Yeah, so you had better not take off my hand or anything with your fancy new magic.”

She returned his smile, this time with more confidence. “I won’t, you’re left hand is safe with me.”

“Only the left one?”

“I make no promises,” she said with a wink. “I’ve already got the room set up, so we can get started if you’re ready.”

Theodore followed her into one of the rooms set off the main room. It was fairly small, but the decorations she had put up made it feel cozy.

“Are these your designs?” he asked while gesturing to the artwork hung on the walls.

“Most of them.” She pointed to one full of flowers and pastel colors that looked almost like a photo of a garden. “That one is from one of my muggle friends. She gave it to me before I came back.”

He took his time examining all the drawings before he finally took a seat in the large chair in the center of the room.

“Just as a warning, the chair will recline so you’ll be slightly leaned back. You can position it in whatever way makes you the most comfortable.” She pointed to the levers on the side and showed him how to use them. “Keep in mind, this will take a while, possibly several sessions, so you’ll want to find a position that you can sit in for a while.”

Theodore made himself comfortable and watched as Hermione went about the room setting up the equipment she would need.

She had designed her tattoo machine herself using a combination of muggle and magical techniques. The machine had a clip on the side next to the tip and grip in which she would set her wand. This allowed her to maneuver the machine properly while also powering it with her magic, mixing the magic and ink together so they were woven together seamlessly. Although she was able to work around the lack of electricity, the tattoo machine still made a humming noise reminiscent of the muggle version purely for her own nostalgia rather than necessity.

He watched in fascination as she cleaned his forearm carefully with a cool cloth and set out the ink pots she wished to use. He almost smiled when she took a deep, steadying breath.

“Are you ready?”

“Are you asking me or yourself?”

She gave him a dry look and swatted his arm. “I was asking you, but I’ll take that as a yes.”

The process was more painful that Hermione and Theodore had anticipated.

She tried to alternate between the scarred skin of his forearm and the less sensitive skin on the back side of his arm, but they found themselves having to take frequent breaks so he could rest.

It frustrated Theodore to appear so weak, regardless of how sympathetic Hermione tried to be. He knew she wasn’t pitying him, but it was close enough to make him grind his teeth together. Every grunt and pained moan was a personal insult.

“I’m going to work mainly on your outer arm, and we can move back to the scar tissue when you’re ready.” She kept her gaze on his arm hoping it would help with his discomfort. She knew his need to come across as aloof was giving him a great deal of grief, and she wanted to do what she could to keep him as relaxed as possible. “We can come back to it another day if we need to,” she said tentatively.

Theodore shook his head and said roughly, “No, I want to finish it today if we can.” He grabbed the glass of water Hermione had gotten him during one of their breaks and swiftly downed the rest of its contents. Oh how he wished it were firewhiskey.

“Then I’m going to try and push through it, and you let me know if you need another break, okay?”

He nodded again and clenched his fist tightly around the glass as she moved back towards his dark mark. He had never hated the cursed thing more than in this moment. Years had past and it still caused him so much pain. So much anger and shame. He needed to be rid of it regardless of how much it hurt.

His breath caught when she went over a particularly sensitive spot and he swore stars burst across his vision. Only a few more moments, he thought as he tried to push past the pain. Was he breathing?

Hermione tried her best to keep her hand steady and use as gentle a touch as possible, but her insides were shaking with the knowledge that she was causing him so much pain. She could see it in the tightness of his jaw and the twitching of the strained muscles of his arms. He was doing an impressive job of hiding it, but she knew her magic was excruciating and that made her queasy.

Neither of them spoke as the minutes, or perhaps hours, slowly ticked by.

Finally, Hermione sighed out a long breath and let a slightly shaky smile spread across her lips.

“I’m finished.”

Theodore stared, gaze unblinking, at his transformed arm. He had watched the entire process, every step as Hermione had worked so diligently cover his mark, and yet he still couldn’t comprehend what he was looking at.

It was gone.

There was no trace, no outline, nothing to indicate he’d ever had a dark mark staining the skin of his arm. In it’s place was the most beautiful mosaic of leaves and words he had ever seen. He turned his arm this way and that, amazed at how easily it wrapped around and covered the skin from his wrist to his elbow. He ran a finger over the ink, surprised he couldn’t feel it at all. He let his finger drift over the skin the dark mark had once occupied and marveled at the lack of pain, heat, or swelling that he had grown so used to.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he looked up at Hermione. He was unsure if they were from the pain that still echoed under his skin or from the relief that was sweeping through his body, but he supposed they were what some would call ‘good tears’.

“Thank you,” he whispered, voice breaking partway through the words. “Thank you so much.”

Hermione smiled, her own tears trickling down her cheeks. “I’m so glad it worked, Theodore. I’m so glad it…” She sniffled a little and swiped at her eyes. “Thank you for letting me help you.”

He stood quickly and pulled her into a tight hug. He hoped he could somehow convey the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him: awe, surprise, relief, and most of all freedom. He squeezed her a little tighter before stepping back and smiling at the surprise in her eyes. “You have created something incredible, Hermione, and I’m honored to be a part of it.”

She nodded in thanks, touched by his words but unable to speak through her renewed crying.

Theodore quickly hugged her once more then made his way quickly out of the shop. Hugs were one thing, but he was still a Slytherin and refused to be seen crying in earnest, especially in public. He made his way to the nearest apparition point, his mind whirling and unfocused on where his feet were taking him, too overcome by the myriad of emotions he felt. He paused for only a moment before turning sharply and apparating away with a sharp ‘crack’.

He landed in the middle of Draco’s flat in front of a very startled Blaise and Draco.

“Theo, mate, you couldn’t use the floo?” The grin on Draco’s face slowly faded into a look of concern as he took in the man standing before him.

Theodore’s shoulders were stiff, a tremor running through his body and causing his hands to shake. His chest was heaving with each ragged breath his lungs struggled to take in. Tear tracks stained his cheeks. He had been crying when he left the store, he realized in surprise.

“Theo?” Blaise asked quietly.

Draco slowly rose to pour Theo a glass of firewhiskey while Blaise kept a sharp eye on their friend. It had been a long time since they had seen him so shaken, and it had the both of them feeling nervous.

Theo swiftly downed the glass of firewhiskey Draco handed him and placed it carefully on the coffee table. He stared at the crystal glass for a few moments, collecting his thoughts, steadying his breathing, and grounding himself before finally looking up at his two friends.

“She can do it.”

Neither of them spoke, waiting for him to elaborate.

“She can do it,” he said again, this time with more conviction. His throat felt tight, and his eyes burned from the tears he fought to hold back. “She can cover them.”

Blaise and Draco exchanged a nervous glance, and Blaise asked quietly, “Who can cover what, mate?”

Theo began rolling up his left sleeve which caused Blaise to lurch to his feet to try and stop him. He jerked his arm away, shoved the cuff of his sleeve over his elbow, and then held out his arm for them to see.

Draco let out a strangled sound, and Blaise dropped his glass which shattered on the floor. No one moved to clean it up as all eyes remained fixed on Theo’s forearm.

His dark-mark-free, tattooed forearm.

“How?” Blaise whispered. He grabbed onto Theo’s arm and rubbed his thumb over the skin, as though the leaves and words painted there could be scrubbed away by the slightest touch.

“Magic ink.” Theo looked over at Draco who had a white-knuckled grip on his whiskey glass and whose face had taken on a ghostly pallor. “It’s something muggles do, but she’s mixed it with magic.”

“Who has?” Draco snapped. He hadn’t intended to sound so angry, but the fear he felt was too sharp to push away. Fear that this wasn’t real, that if he blinked the mark would be back. Fear that it just wasn’t possible.

Theo pushed past Blaise and grabbed Draco by the shoulders. He met his gaze firmly and let a few tears slip through and roll down his cheeks. “She can do it, Draco. It’s real,” he said in a raspy whisper, knowing the truth of the act was more important than the person who had done it.

Draco’s eyes widened a fraction more and drifted down to Theo’s arm again. He took in the colors, the designs, the words; amazed that something so beautiful could take the place of something they had hated for so long. “Who can do it, Theo?”

Theo inhaled a deep breath, knowing the reaction he would get and dreading it. But the dread was washed away by the wonder and relief he had been drowning in since he had arrived. Drowning in the best way and never wanting to surface. He smiled through his tears as he said, 

“Hermione Granger.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, not gonna lie, I cried a little at the reviews you've left on the first two chapters. Y'all are too sweet and made my week! Here's chapter three, as always let me know what you think. Love you all!

The three friends had stayed up late into the night, finished their bottle of firewhiskey and broken into a second one, all while discussing Theo’s recent visit to Hermione’s tattoo shop. Blaise and Draco had been grilling him and asking every question they could think of about tattoos, the shop, and his experience. They had finally lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

Blaise was sprawled on the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling, most likely only a few drinks away from blacking out. Theo was sat on the floor nursing his drink and inspecting his tattoo; the awe still hadn’t faded from his eyes. Draco was staring into the fire in his fireplace trying to wrap his head around the fact that Hermione Granger had given one of his best mates a tattoo.

_Hermione Granger._

_Gryffindor Golden Girl._

_Merlin’s Favorite Prude._

_The Next Minerva McGonagall._

When had she gone and become a - what was it - a tattoo artist?

Draco shook his head and took another long sip of his drink, the familiar burn rushing through his lungs and chest. Swirling the amber liquid in his glass, he considered the last time he had seen her. It had to gave been several years now.

_After the War had ended, after the quiet had set in and the reconstruction had begun, they had run into each other in one of the destroyed halls of Hogwarts. They had stared at each other, each searching the other for Merlin knows what, wands held tightly in their hands._

_Hermione had finally broken the silence and said, “Tell your Mother I said thank you.”_

_He had nodded, knowing she was referring to the lie Narcissa had told in the Forbidden Forest, the lie that had not only saved Harry Potter but had brought about the end of Voldemort’s reign of terror. If only they had been able to act sooner._

_“I’m sorry for your loss.”_

_She started, surprised by his kindness._

_He could see a shimmer of tears cover her eyes, but they were swiftly blinked away and the hardness returned._

_“I’m sorry for yours as well.”_

_Draco nodded again, this time in thanks, and glanced around the hallway unsure if he should stay or go._

_Hermione shuffled her feet and without looking at him said, “Thank you for changing your mind. There at the end.” She frowned slightly and shoved some hair that had fallen loose out of her face. “It took bravery to give Harry that wand.”_

_“I should have been braver sooner.”_

_Her frown deepened, this time directed at him. “We were children.”_

_Were. As if they were no longer children. As though they hadn’t been students only a few weeks ago. Moments ago. As though they weren’t standing in a war zone that had once been their school, that should still be their school._

_They stared at each other a moment longer, the silence filled with apologies, respect, and regret. The quiet, unspoken things that they couldn’t find the words to express. A heartbeat or two passed before they started moving again to repair the hallway they stood in. They worked quietly, side by side, until the hallway showed almost no signs of the horrors that had occurred only a few hours before._

_He was unsettled by how easily the remnants of war could be hidden._

_Hermione caught his eye again, an unreadable expression in those once-warm brown eyes. She sighed softly and it almost echoed in the quiet hallway. He watched the weight of the world settle itself once more upon her shoulders, and then watched her leave._

_He hadn’t seen her since._

How had that haunted, quiet bookworm turned into this confident artist that Theo had met? Had it been anyone else, Draco might have been tempted to visit. Not for lack of trying on Theo’s part; he had tried countless times to convince Draco to go get his dark mark covered.

He wanted to, Merlin, did he want to. But he had far too much pride and far too much bad blood with Granger to ever step foot in that place. Maybe if he was lucky someone else would learn how to cover his dark mark. Granger always had the irritating need to impart her knowledge on others. It wouldn’t be long before she had a following of apprentices. He could wait until then.

—..—

Rita Skeeter was livid.

She had written the most delicious article on one Daphne Greengrass cheating on her husband with none other than fellow graduate and notorious halfblood Tracy Davis. It was the biggest exposé of the year. At least it should have been, but that air-headed witch over at the Quibbler had put out an article detailing the opening of some shop owned by Hermione Granger.

Rita scowled darkly. Hermione Granger. That witch had been a thorn in her side since the brat was fourteen. Rita had thought she’d finally been rid of her when Granger disappeared three years ago. Her life had been easy, free to write all the half-truths and horrible scandals her heart could desire. Granger had been stupid enough not to tell anyone about her animagus form, so she was able to continue her… creative information gathering techniques. But her luck had run out.

Despite her best efforts, the Wizarding World had welcomed Granger back with open arms. No one seemed to care where she had been, and Rita had been unable to find any hints of what the witch had been up to, much to her disappointment. So she had thrown a few speculations out for the public to enjoy, just far enough into the realm of conjecture to keep her out of Granger’s cross hairs. At least for now.

And now there was news of some new store, something muggle of course, and Rita had been the last to know about it.

She hated being the last to know things.

Which is why she found herself crouched between two buildings in Diagon Alley, trying her best to ignore the disgusting, grimy walls pressing against her. Sacrificing her professional, pink robes would be well worth it if she was able to get any sort of disparaging information on Granger. 

She wasn’t even entirely sure what kind of information she was looking for. No matter how hard she had worked in the past to tear down her pristine reputation, Hermione Granger had always managed to avoid any kind of public scandal. She was as perfect as they came, and it infuriated Rita to no end. No rumor or poorly angled photo seemed to stick; Granger was the Wizarding World’s infallible princess.

“Not anymore,” Rita swore quietly to herself.

She inched along the buildings until she found the window she was looking for and peered in. In front of her was an unobstructed view into Virago’s back office. Swiftly casting a disillusionment charm, Rita tucked herself against the wall and waited.

To her delight, Rita didn’t have to wait long.

Hermione Granger came bustling into her office with her usual, irritatingly exuberant energy. She was laughing at something, quite loudly Rita noted with a sneer. She started to consider an article on Granger’s lack of fashion sense, but was immediately distracted when someone else walked into the office.

What was Theodore Nott doing in Hermione Granger’s personal office?

A sly grin twisted Rita’s features into an expression that most would find deeply unsettling. She lifted the magical camera that dangled around her neck and snapped a few shots of the pair. To any outsiders they looked innocent enough, but with just the right headline…

The sound of a small beetle laughing was even more unsettling than Rita Skeeter’s smile. Thankfully, no one was around to hear it.

—..—

“Theodore, it hasn’t even been two full days since your last appointment!” Hermione exclaimed with a grin.

He had shown up back in her shop with a list of ideas and enthusiasm to match. Despite her teasing, she was thankful he had decided to come back.

“I know, but it healed quite nicely. Besides, I didn’t think you had a wait period between appointments.”

“I don’t, but still -”

He cut her off with a wave of his hand and a smile. “Then go ahead and schedule me in.”

She shook her head. “I have to admit, your enthusiasm is appreciated.”

He leaned back against her desk and looked down at the sketch he had brought with him. “Is my enthusiasm enough to get this done?”

Hermione held her hand out for the design and gave it a quick once over. “I don’t see why not.” Her gaze roved back and forth between his shoulder and the design several times. “It will take less time than before considering the area is far less tender, and we won’t have the dark mark to contend with.”

Theodore quirked an eyebrow at her from his position leaned against the side of her desk. “You don’t mind that it isn’t your design?”

“Not at all.” She handed the paper back to him and smiled slyly. “If you want mediocre art permanently on your body, that’s entirely your prerogative.”

“Me-mediocre?” he sputtered indignantly.

“Perhaps that was too harsh.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “Average?”

“Average?” he demanded even more loudly. “I’ll have you know -”

She laughed at his wide-eyed, offended expression and held her hands out in a placating gesture. “Alright, alright. You’re drawing is quite good.”

Theodore huffed and crossed his arms.

Resisting the urge to comment on his pouting, she conceded, “I would be happy to tattoo your design.”

He gave her a side-eye and frowned. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course I do,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “You’re an excellent artist, Theodore. Although your ego could stand to be brought down a few notches.”

Regardless, his chest puffed up slightly at her compliment. “I think it will work well with the work you’ve already done, don’t you?”

She moved to stand next to him and peered down at the drawing from over his shoulder. “I have to agree, the colors will work nicely with what you already have.” She bit her lip gently and added, “Maybe with a little tweaking…”

“Oh come off it!”

After his second appointment, Theodore and Hermione settled into a decent rhythm. He stopped by every few days with a new idea or design he wanted to add and they worked to cover his arm from wrist to shoulder in a combination of their beautiful designs. Within a few weeks, Theodore boasted a full tattoo sleeve on his left arm.

They had taken the leaves and scrolls from Hermione’s original design on his forearm and extended them up towards his shoulder where they met with a cluster of pale yellow peonies. They had been his mother’s favorite flowers before she passed, and he wanted them as a reminder of her.

Hermione had been more than happy to add them, and had even added a little extra magic to them. She had been working on a spell similar to the protean charms which warmed when a new message was received, but with a unique twist. Rather than warm when Hermione sent it a message, the yellow peonies would warm slightly whenever Theodore murmured his mother’s name to them.

Theodore had done his best to remain stoic when she had discussed the idea with him, but it had been nearly as emotional of an appointment as his first visit.

He had grown to enjoy their conversations together while Hermione worked. He had known she was an intelligent witch, but their mutual love for Shakespeare, potions, and drawing had allowed an easy friendship to bloom between them. He had even told her to call him ‘Theo’, a sign of friendship he didn’t extend to just anyone.

Hermione was thankful for his frequent appointments. Aside from a few of her school friends, not many witches or wizards tended to stop by her shop more than once. She hadn’t expected to be enthusiastically welcomed by the wizarding community, but she had hoped for a bit more business than she was getting. Theodore’s visits made the quiet emptiness of her shop weigh just a little less on her shoulders.

She had tried to mention in a casual, off-hand manner that Theo could bring other Slytherins to her shop, but he had seemed opposed to the idea so she had let it drop. She understood why most of them wouldn’t want to come by, but she couldn’t deny the disappointment she felt.

“Are there any old school mates you know that might be interested in getting a tattoo?”

Theodore hadn’t looked up from the book he was reading in one of her armchairs, but she had seen the way his shoulder tensed for the fraction of a second.

“No,” he said casually. “I don’t think any of them would be.”

Hermione had remained quiet for a moment, thinking about how to word what she wanted to say. “I want this to be a place where anyone from anywhere can come and feel welcome,” she said carefully, making sure he understood her intentions. “Whether they need healing, or to get something covered, or just a way to express themselves, I want this to be a place anyone can turn to.”

She had been hesitant to meet his gaze, but when she did she found a him gazing back at her with a shocked expression.

“You really mean that.”

It wasn’t a question so much as a statement, as if he were verbalizing a conclusion he had just come to.

“Of course I do.”

They hadn’t said anything after that, but Hermione knew she had gotten her point across. She only hoped her invitation would reach the right people.

That had been several days ago, and Hermione had grown anxious. Theo hadn’t been by her shop in that time and hadn’t sent her any owls with new designs or appointment times. She knew he most likely had things to do, maybe even a job, but she still felt his absence acutely in her quiet office. A small fear that she had crossed some boundary was slowly creeping in. She tried to busy herself with sporadic appointments and researching new ways of incorporating magic into her tattoos, but she soon realized she had grown rather fond of him. Dare she say it, she missed him.

Hermione was so preoccupied by her thoughts that when her office door burst open with a flutter of activity, a rush of startled adrenaline had her lurching to her feet and scrambling for her wand. She let out a breath of relief when she saw Ginny and Luna sprawled across her office floor.

“Honestly,” she grouched with her hands on her hips. “Don’t you two know how to enter a room like normal people?”

Luna smiled sheepishly from the floor and pushed herself up and off of Ginny. “Apologies, Hermione. We let our excitement get the best of us and tripped over each other’s feet. Which is rather impressive considering they are attached to someone else’s legs.”

Ginny blew some of her hair out of her face and gave Luna an unimpressed look. “It’s not that impressive, Luna. You trip over your own feet all the time.”

Luna shrugged and looked rather unapologetic.

“What are you both so excited about that you couldn’t manage a door or feet properly?”

“Oh,” Ginny exclaimed and rushed over to Hermione’s desk. “We wanted to bring you this.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow at the newspaper that was dumped unceremoniously onto her desk. It was a copy of the Daily Prophet.

“Why would you bring me this rubbish? You know I prefer the Quibbler.”

Luna threw Ginny a rather smug look. “That’s what I said, but Ginny was too busy going on about whatever that horribly buzzing lady wrote on the front page.”

Hermione ignored Luna’s odd description and flipped the newspaper over to read the front page. When she saw the photos printed there, she froze. 

Plastered across the front page were several photos of her and Theodore in her shop. One was the two of them laughing, another of her giving him a hug before he left, but the last was the most damning. It was a photo of her leaning over his shoulder to look at his design, but from the angle it was taken it looked as though she were resting her head against his.

She felt her heart drop straight into her stomach when she read the headline:

_Granger and Nott looking to tie the knot?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barely have time to post before work, but I'm sticking to the schedule dang it! Hope you all have a fantastic week!!

“Is nothing sacred to this woman?”

Hermione was pacing her office, chewing her thumbnail and trying to contain her ire. She needed to think, needed a plan, and she couldn’t think properly if she allowed her anger to take over. Even if it was rather tempting.

“Are you really surprised she would violate Hermione’s privacy?” 

Luna’s voice filtered in between Hermione’s rampaging thoughts and brought her back into her office.

“She should know better,” Hermione said calmly. She pushed her anger back into its cage and begged her logical mind to take over. “I’ve had to force her to leave me alone in the past, and I had thought she had learned her lesson.”

Ginny arched an eyebrow at her and asked, “What did you do?”

A sly grin spread over Hermione’s lips. “Oh, just a small amount of blackmail.”

“A small amount?” Ginny sounded skeptical. “How much is a small amount?”

“I found out she’s an unregistered beetle animagus.”

Luna waved a hand in Hermione’s direction and muttered, “I told you she buzzed a lot.”

Ginny looked baffled and demanded, “You knew?”

“Of course not.”

“But you said she buzzed?”

Luna shrugged delicately. “Her lies make her an insect.”

Hermione nodded as though that made perfect sense while Ginny gave her a desperate look.

“Please, Luna, can you make sense just once in your life?”

“Of course not,” Luna said sharply. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

Rubbing her temples and grumbling under her breath, Ginny walked over to one of the couches and plopped down into the soft cushions. “I love you, Luna, but I swear to Merlin you’re going to be the death of me.”

Luna patted the top of Ginny’s head and said in a sing-song voice, “Don’t worry, darling, you’ll enjoy every moment.”

“Can we please focus on the situation at hand?” Hermione asked. “I would like to deal with Skeeter as swiftly as possible.” She needed a distraction - from the article, from Theo ignoring her, from everything. Rita Skeeter was the perfect, temporary distraction.

Ginny leaned backward over the edge of the couch so she could look at Hermione, albeit upside down. “What did you have in mind?” She swatted at Luna’s hand which was trying to play with her hair and glared. “We could report her and ruin her career?”

Luna shook her head and skipped over to the other couch across from Ginny. “No, I think that would be too kind for her.”

The room fell silent as the other two women gazed at Luna in shock. She was always the gentle one of the group; slow to anger and the only calming hand able to keep Ginny’s notorious temper in check. For Luna to voice such an aggressive opinion of someone was surprising and spoke volumes.

“Luna,” Hermione asked hesitantly, “what do you think we should do?”

A slow, wicked grin spread over Luna’s usually angelic features and caused a cold chill to run down Hermione’s spine. “If she is willing to spend all of her energy and time trying to ruin your reputation, I believe we should return the favor in kind.”

“Wonderfully vague,” Ginny said sarcastically. “Mind simplifying it for us mere mortals?” She ducked swiftly to dodge a pillow thrown at her face and laughed.

Luna tried to give her an intimidating look but ultimately failed and smiled dreamily instead. “She values her reputation as well as her standing in wizarding society above all else. We should ruin both.”

Ginny groaned dramatically and looked ready to shake the poor blonde for only rewording what she had already said, so Hermione quickly intervened.

“Why don’t we step out for an early lunch? I think we will all be able to better scheme on full stomachs.”

She knew food was the easiest way to distract Ginny, and she wasn’t disappointed. Ginny smoothly vaulted over the back of the couch and dashed for the door. “Last one there pays!”

They decided on a small cafe further down Diagon Alley and were thankful that it was relatively empty when they arrived. Despite the lack of a crowd, the women were distinctly aware of the intense stares coming from the few customers inside. Doing their best to ignore them, they placed their food orders with a passing waitress and claimed a table tucked snuggly in a corner of the small building.

“I’ve never been able to get used to the stares,” Ginny grouched and slouched further into her chair, as though she could become one with the furniture and fade from view.

Luna met the gazes around them unflinchingly, as if daring them to approach or speak. “Unfortunately, I don’t believe they are staring at us, Ginny.”

Hermione looked around and realized Luna was right; everyone in the room was staring directly at her in varying degrees of subtly. Damn that article. She resisted the urge to join Ginny, who was nearly under the table, and settled for picking at the floral table cloth in front of her.

She had been lucky after the war, she realized. The staring of grateful and starry-eyed citizens around them had been a weight she had avoided bearing when she disappeared into the muggle world. The muggles had been blissfully unaware of the war against Voldemort and had no idea she was any sort of heroine or veteran. Hermione cringed slightly at the twang of guilt that ran through her. She truly had abandoned her friends to handle so much on their own.

Hermione felt a hand rest gently on her shoulder, and looked up to see a pair of blue eyes looking back at her full of more understanding than she was comfortable with.

Luna gave her a gentle smile. “Everyone heals in their own ways.”

Whatever Hermione was going to say in response was cut off by the arrival of their food. Thankfully the waitress didn’t linger too long; she simply set down their trays, gave Hermione a lingering look, and then disappeared into the back room. Ginny had grumbled something under her breath about ‘nosy good for nothings’ but had left the waitress alone and instead opted for digging into her meal with gusto.

Hermione tried to eat but found her appetite swiftly fading under the weight of so many gazes around her. She sighed quietly and stood from the table. “I’m going to step into the loo.” She left the table before either one of them could offer to come with her.

She swiftly made her way through the restaurant and heaved a sigh of relief as the thick wood of the bathroom door was finally able to block out the gazes of the customers. Her skin was crawling from the feeling of so many people looking at her, judging her, thinking they knew anything about her. It made her angry, but it mostly made her sick. She had taken the anonymity of living in the muggle world for granted, and she longed to return to it. It would be easy to apparate away, disappear back into the masses and lose herself again, but that would be running. And Hermione Granger didn’t run. Right?

She looked up at herself in the bathroom mirror and frowned. She didn’t like what she saw there - the fear in her eyes, the shame that still lingered behind her smile. No matter how much she tried to distract herself, she felt it every time she looked at Ginny and Luna. A graduate of Gryffindor, house of the brave, and here she was cowering in the bathroom like she was eleven years old once more.

“Tch,” she scoffed and gave herself a harsh look. “You left your bravery at Hogwarts, didn’t you?”

The disappointment she felt was overwhelming and felt as though it pushed against she shoulders as she leaned against the bathroom sink. She was so absorbed in her self-deprecating thoughts that she nearly missed the sound of the bathroom door opening and the sharp clip of heels walking across the tile towards her.

A startled Pansy Parkinson met her gaze in the mirror.

“Well, this just saved me several hours of looking for you.”

Hermione frowned at her and turned to face her. “Why would you be looking for me?”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “You’re the talk of the town again, Granger. Why wouldn’t I be looking for you?”

The sharp tightening in her chest made it hard for Hermione to breath. “I should have assumed you would flock with the rest of the s, Parkinson. Aren’t the sheep of society below your station?”

“Of course they are.” Pansy picked at her immaculate finger nails and looked entirely indifferent to the fact that they were having this conversation in a public bathroom. “I am here on behalf of Theodore.”

There was that tightness again followed by a wave of nausea. “He feels the need to have you play owl between us?” It was half a question, half a statement. She knew Theo was avoiding her, but seeing the evidence in front of her was still a little painful. Of course he would send someone else to speak with her; they couldn’t very well be seen in public together while that article was still circulating.

“Oh, he didn’t send me.” Pansy rolled her eyes at Hermione’s obvious confusion. “He has been sitting at home rather distraught over the last few days, and it took me far too much effort to extract the details of the situation from him.”

“So you haven’t seen the article?”

Pansy’s laugh was cruel and echoed through the small space. “Of course I saw it, Granger. All of Wizarding Britain has seen your latest love affair.”

“It’s not -”

“I know,” Pansy said condescendingly. It made Hermione’s hackles rise. “It isn’t what it looks like. There is absolutely no chance of Theodore Nott sullying himself with the likes of you.”

Hermione tried to hide her anger at Pansy’s obvious attempt to get a rise out of her and raised a cool brow in question. “Then why are you here?”

“To help you.” Pansy raised a hand to cut off Hermione’s protests. “Believe me, Granger, this is the last thing I would like to be doing with my time. However, your actions have effected my friends which in turn effects me. So whether you like it or not, I am here to stay until this travesty is remedied and that horrid excuse of a woman is brought to her knees.”

She wanted to protest, she truly did, but Hermione knew Pansy Parkinson was an enviable resource and one she wouldn’t be able to come by easily in any other circumstances. For once, her common sense lost in the internal struggle with her boiling, seething need to revenge.

Pansy smirked when she saw the hardened sheen of resolve come over Hermione’s gaze. She knew an unrelenting beast of wrath was thrashing just underneath Hermione’s skin, begging to be released upon the world. And it would be Pansy’s pleasure to release it.

—..—

Theodore’s gaze roved over the page of his book for the hundredth time without seeing or comprehending a single word it contained.

He was trying, albeit futilely, to distract himself. He had made tea, started a fire in his fireplace, and cleaned the entirety of Nott Manor, all without magic and none of it had done him any good.

He was stressed.

No, ‘stressed’ wasn’t a strong enough word for what he was feeling. Theo had avoided the spotlight his entire life despite who his friends, and often times enemies, were. He had never volunteered in class, never stood out in a crowd, and had all but disappeared into the stonework of the places around him. And he preferred it that way.

Theo was perfectly content to remain in the shadows, so having his life thrown into such turmoil and fed to the beasts that were the socialites of the Wizarding World was probably his worst nightmare. If boggarts could be situations or events, this would be his.

He tossed his book onto the coffee table, gently mind you, and scrubbed at his eyes in frustration. Pansy had left several hours ago, and he still hadn’t heard anything from her, good or bad. He probably should have known better than to call on her for help, but Pansy had always been the level-headed one of their friend group. The problem solver. But when she had read that article…

Theo shivered at the memory of Pansy losing her temper and wondered, not for the first time, if she had gone out to simply murder Rita Skeeter and be done with it.

He felt a wave of relief when he heard the front door of the manor opening and then closing loudly, but the relief was short lived as a very drunk, very loud Blaise came stumbling into his study.

“Theo, mate.” His voice was slurred and his balance precarious as he made his way carelessly over to the couch in front of the fireplace. “You missed the most incredible pair o’ witches at the bar just now.”

“Blaise, are you aware that it is barely past noon on a Tuesday?” Theo tried to sound reprimanding, but he couldn’t suppress the amusement he found in Blaise’s ability to butcher the human language and allowed himself a small smile.

Blaise didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed; rather he looked confused by what Theo was trying to imply. “I haven’t forgotten the day, if that’s what your asking.”

The urge to throw the nearest item at Blaise was always present, but especially so when he was drunk. Eying the lamp beside him, Theo said, “Thank you for stopping by, unannounced as always, but I am a little busy here, Blaise.”

“I’ll say!”

Theo winced at Blaise’s shouting and rubbed his eyes again.

“I’m your best mate, Theo!”

“Draco is my best mate.”

“You should have told me about your new bird,” Blaise continued yelling, letting his selective hearing skip over the insult.

“I don’t have a ‘new bird’.” He could feel a headache coming on. “That article was a foul misinterpretation of completely innocent events between two friends.”

Blaise glared at him from his position sprawled across the couch and pointed an accusing finger. “Since when did you become friends with that?”

‘That’ being Hermione Granger, Theo assumed. He was surprised by the frustration he felt towards Blaise’s dismissal of the witch. “She,” he said with emphasis, “has been my friend for several weeks now. You have been too busy with booze and women to pay any attention to the people around you, as per usual, and missed the several times I mentioned her.”

Blaise’s glare quickly morphed into confused squinting as he tried to recall any such conversations. When he was unsuccessful, he opted for groaning loudly and throwing an arm across his eyes. “Whatever, mate, it’s your life. You can ruin it however you like.”

“Isn’t that usually my line?” Theo asked dryly. He stared into the fire for several moments, thinking about the article and everything that had transpired since it’s release, and finally said, “Pansy offered to help, but I fear she may have gone and done something drastic.” When Blaise said nothing, he continued, “I haven’t heard from her in several hours and may have to try and find her.”

Again, Blaise remained quiet.

“Would you -”

His question was cut off by a startlingly loud snore. Blaise, the ever useless, had fallen asleep.

Theo had just started debating between strangling Blaise and going after Pansy, when the witch in question was spit out of his fireplace.

She daintily dusted off her robes and gave Blaise a disgusted glance. “Is he aware it is hardly past noon on a Tuesday?”

“Painfully.”

She scoffed and tossed her outer robe onto Blaise’s face. He didn’t so much as twitch.

“What did you do?” Theo was honestly scared to ask, but he couldn’t see any signs of violence or blood on Pansy’s immaculate wardrobe. He was hopeful.

“Always with the accusatory tone,” she said with a sigh. “Your lack of faith is hurtful, Theo.”

“I have complete faith in you,” he argued. “Faith in your ability to commit murder and not get caught.”

She gave him a conspiratorial wink which did nothing to assuage his concerns. “Have no fear, I only went to speak with Granger.”

He couldn’t decide if that was better than murder or worse.

“We had a quick chat about that Skeeter woman, and then joined the she-Weasley and Lovegood for a less than adequate lunch in a little shack in Diagon Alley. I would say the meal was…,” she trailed off and then gave him a feral smile that was all teeth and dark promises. “Enlightening.”

Worse. This was definitely worse.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey party people!! I had to speed write this chapter today because work has been stealing all of my time lately. But it's still Thursday! Thank you as always to everyone who leaves kudos and reviews, you make my week and keep me excited to post the next chapter. Love to you all, and I hope you have a great week!

With how often Hermione paced in her small, muggle flat it was a miracle there wasn’t a permanent pale worn in the floor.

Her body vibrated with a restless energy she couldn’t shake. Lunch that afternoon had been such a strange affair that she wasn’t entirely sure it hadn’t been a fever dream.

She, Ginny, and Luna had lunch with Pansy Parkinson. And not just lunch, but a _civil_ and _voluntary_ lunch. She was still reeling from how normal it had felt. After they had all gotten through the small talk and forced pleasantries, and Ginny’s poorly veiled insults, the four women had gotten along surprisingly well.

Mutual hatred for a specific individual can really bring people together, she thought with bitter satisfaction.

There had been the obligatory murder plots of course and plans of clever disappearances, but once they had settled down to really plan how to bring Rita Skeeter to her knees a clear plan had begun to form between them. Hermione had been reluctant at first, battling with her morality and her need to just move past it all, but Parkinson had been almost too good at getting Hermione to focus on her anger and righteous indignation. It made her wary but also develop a begrudging admiration for Parkinson’s ability to manipulate people into seeing things her way.

If she was being honest with herself, she was almost grateful for it. If Parkinson hadn’t been there, Hermione would have very easily let her anger fizzle out into a dull throb in the back of her mind and gone home to bury herself under blankets until the whole thing was forgotten in light of the next big scandal.

But now?

Her anger burned in her chest. It had wrapped itself around her forgiving heart and held it captive. She had been lenient with Rita Skeeter in the past but no longer.

She paused in her pacing and allowed a small, wicked grin the creep onto her face.

The plan Parkinson had suggested was almost perfect. They had all agreed that retaliation from Hermione and her friends was expected, and they would have to be careful not to get themselves in trouble along with her. Unfortunately subtlety and cleverness were not the most prominent characteristics in their friend group, but that was why Parkinson had come to help. She had suggested they allow Rita Skeeter to ruin herself.

Hermione resumed her pacing.

Scheming was all well and good, but the most important part, the details of ‘how’, needed work. Ideally, they would find a way to expose Rita Skeeter without having to be directly involved, ultimately enabling the Wizarding World itself to ruin Skeeter and reduce her reputation to the dirt that it was. They wanted Skeeter’s fall from grace to be painful and permanent, and the only way to do that would be for her audience to do it themselves.

Her large audience, Hermione noted. She was getting that feeling of being on the verge of realization. Her large audience that she had written horrible, publicly shaming pieces about. Was there anyone Rita Skeeter hadn’t written horrible things about?

Hermione’s pacing slowed until she stood before her window, gazing through the glass without really seeing what lay beyond. She chewed thoughtfully on her thumbnail and squinted. Perhaps that was exactly what they needed.

Rita Skeeter had been writing for the Daily Prophet long before she wrote such slander about Hermione and Harry. So much time, and so many articles. There must be a vast amount of victims that she had written about and ruined, and if Hermione could get in touch with them and convince them to come forward…

The Quibbler had gained plenty of traction over the last few years as well. When it had come to light that Luna’s father was the editor, a true friend of Harry Potter, and that the Quibbler had been the only one to write the truth during the War, the Quibbler had swiftly become the number one source of news for wizarding families much to the chagrin of everyone at the Daily Prophet. It wouldn’t take much for Luna to convince Xenophilius to write the truths about Rita Skeeter and her past transgressions.

She would have to get her hands dirty no matter what she decided to do.

A small part of her cringed away at the idea, but she knew Rita Skeeter would go on hurting other people until someone stopped her. If that had to be Hermione and her friends, then so be it.

She made her way over to her writing desk and pulled out several sheets of parchment. Eyeing her quill and ink pot for a moment, she dug around in a drawer and pulled out a standard ink pen instead. She had several letters to write and knew finding the right words would be difficult and time consuming. She would rather not have to struggle with a quill and ink at the same time.

—..—

Theo was by far the calmest person in his group of friends. Rarely anxious and relatively level headed, he prided himself on being able to approach any situation without nerves or fears.

So why were his hands shaking?

He flexed his fingers several times before shoving them into his pockets and out of sight. He had a nervous energy thrumming through him that he wasn’t used to. Logically, he knew there was no point in being anxious over a conversation he hadn’t even had yet. Logically, he knew nothing truly terrible could come even as a worst case scenario.

Logically, he knew he was behaving in a ridiculous manner.

But that small voice in the back of his mind, the one so full of mockery and malice, whispered the most horrible ideas. He had behaved horribly to her. She had every right to hate him, to turn him away and tell him to never come back. He had ruined yet another friendship in a potentially irreparable way. Another failure.

He shook his head to clear this thoughts and gazed determinedly ahead. 

Virago stood before him, as intimidating as a tiny storefront could be. He could see the cheerful interior through the front window and it taunted him, reminding him of the safe haven he had potentially lost. The open sign hanging in the window stared back, as though asking, ‘Well, are you coming in?’

With a deep breath, he did. The bell over the door sounded so much louder than it had before, and announced his presence to anyone inside. He only had to wait a moment before Hermione came out of the back, a cheerful and welcoming smile on her face.

The smile froze and became a little forced when she saw him standing by the door.

“Hello, Theo.”

“I wanted to apologize,” he said quickly. 

She seemed startled slightly but motioned for him to continue.

“My behavior over the week has been unacceptable, and I apologize if I hurt you in any way. I left you to deal with the article alone despite it including both of us which undoubtedly made you feel even worse, and I have no excuse for it.”

She continued to look at him with an unreadable expression, neither condemning nor forgiving, and it made the words tumble from his mouth even faster.

“If I’m entirely honest with you, I was afraid. Fear is a difficult thing for a Slytherin to confess to, especially to someone who they haven’t known for very long, but I was. I was afraid our friendship was ruined so quickly, or that you believed I had something to do with the article.” He felt a prick of pain in his hand and realized that he was picking at his fingers again. He shoved his hands further into his pocket so she wouldn’t see, and sighed. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I hope you can forgive me, but I understand if you would rather I leave.”

Hermione waited for several moments to make sure he had said everything he needed to, and when he remained silent she smiled gently. “Theo.” She waited until he was looking at her and said, “There is nothing to forgive.”

His surprise was so swift and severe that it was written all over his usually composed face.

“You did nothing wrong,” she said softly. She wanted to touch him, reassure him in her sincerity, but knew better. “The article was out of your control, neither of us knew she had taken those pictures, and I have no doubt that you would have stopped her if you had known.”

He nodded emphatically. He would go to extreme lengths to stay out of the papers, especially in such a negative light.

“Then what could you possibly need to apologize for?”

“You were alone.”

She nodded seriously but the smile didn’t leave her lips. “I was, but I have been alone for more difficult things than this. Everyone handles things in their own way, Theo. Some people need to be alone and think, others need to be surrounded by friends and vent. Neither is better than the other.”

Theo shifted on his feet, unbalanced by how the conversation had turned out. He had played out an endless amount of possible scenarios in his head, but none of them involved Hermione being so calm and understanding. It truly amazed him.

“So we can still be friends?”

Hermione seemed as surprised by the question as Theo was. “Of course we’re still friends.” A small laugh escaped her and she asked incredulously, “Did you think something as little as thing would make me no longer want to be friends with you?”

Theo tried not to look embarrassed. “It didn’t seem like a small thing at the time.”

“Give me a little credit,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I’ve been through more than bad press with Harry and Ron during school. A few poorly captioned pictures aren’t going to scare me.”

A smile crept its way onto Theo’s lips. “No, I suppose they pale in comparison to trolls and dragons.”

“They absolutely do.”

They made their way back into her office so they could sit comfortably before her fireplace while they talked. Hermione also knew her drink cupboard might come in handy if Theo was still feeling tense from his apology. She looked over at him and took in his tense posture.

Hermione itched to hug him, knowing hugs fixed any fight she had with her friends in the past, but she hesitated. Theo was different. Compared to the loud and rambunctious Weasleys she had grown up with, or even Harry at times, she wasn’t sure how to approach him with physical touch. Come to think of it, she had never seen any of the Slytherins in school display affection to each other.

Before she realized what she was doing, she asked, “Can I hug you?”

He blinked, then blinked again. She could see the question being processed behind his eyes, and he slowly said, “No one has ever asked to hug me before.”

“You’ve never been hugged before?” Her voice was much louder than she intended, but she was truly horrified by the idea.

“No, no,” he said quickly and held up his hands as though to stop her train of thought. “I have been hugged before, plenty of times in fact. My mother hugged me quite often as a child.” He scratched the back of his neck and said, “I meant no one has asked for permission to hug me, they usually do so without warning.”

“Oh.” She tried to fight against the blush rising to her cheeks. “I suppose that makes sense. I only ask because I wasn’t sure if you would be comfortable with it.”

He cleared his throat and looked equally as flustered. “I believe it’s a common action between friends.”

“Merlin, Theo,” she laughed. “Let’s just forget I asked.” She turned away from him to walk over to the cabinet next to her desk and missed Theo’s relieved sigh. “I’m glad you’re here, we’ve addressed the article, why don’t we move past the whole thing?”

“Yes, please,” he said with a voice full of gratitude. 

Hermione came back over to him, revealing two glasses in her hands. “How is your tattoo healing?”

He accepted the drink with a nod of thanks and took a careful sip, enjoying the warmth of the brandy. “It healed very well,” he said and showed her his arm.

Theo had taken to rolling up the sleeves of his shirts to his elbows so his tattoo could be seen by anyone looking. He was so incredibly proud of it, of the magic Hermione had worked on him, that he wanted the whole world to see it. To see that he could change, that mistakes were made but needn’t be permanent.

She turned his arm this way and that, examining every inch of his ink with the trained eye of an expert. When she let go of his arm, it was with a smug smile. 

“Some of my best work, I’d say.” She gestured towards his shoulder with her glass and asked, “What about the rest of it?”

“Just as well.” He reached for the top button of his shirt but hesitated. Rita Skeeter’s article was still fresh in his mind, and if such innocent pictures could be damning, then one of him shirtless…

She saw his hesitation and said, “That’s alright, I can take your word for it.”

He let go of the shirt button and frowned. “Pansy told me she met with you the other day.”

Hermione frowned slightly and began to worry her bottom lip between her teeth. “Yes, she did.”

“Can I help.”

“No,” she said without any hesitation. “The fewer people involved the better.”

They were interrupted by the sound of the front bell ringing, and Hermione left him to go see who it was. Theo remained in her office, comfortable in the quiet space while he waited for her to come back.

He thought about Pansy, Skeeter’s article, and the potential ramifications of a friendship between Pansy and Hermione. The thought filled him with a small amount of fear, not for himself but for the rest of the world. Both witches were a force to be reckoned with on their own, but together? Rita Skeeter wouldn’t stand a chance.

Theo allowed himself a moment of smug satisfaction. It would be nothing less than she deserved. He contented himself with his glass of brandy and daydreams of karmic retribution.

When Hermione came back into the office she was grumbling under her breath and looked frustrated.

Theo was about to ask who had come by, but was interrupted by Hermione all but throwing herself onto the couch across from him. It was very reminiscent of Blaise, he thought with amusement.

“Starting tomorrow I am fully booked on appointments for the rest of the week. The witch that just came in was less than pleased to have to wait that long and demanded I schedule her appointment sooner.”

Theo raised an eyebrow and asked skeptically, “Does she expect you to clone yourself?”

“That’s what I said,” she exclaimed in exasperation. “I told her there’s only one of me, so I can only do one appointment at a time. You would have thought I had told her to wait a year with how angry she got.”

“Did you tell her to leave.”

“Of course I did.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed loudly. “But this isn’t the first time this has happened. I need to come up with a better solution than telling the rude ones to leave.”

He nodded sympathetically and lapsed into quiet thought. Unfortunately, he didn’t know much about running a business and was unsure of what solutions he could offer her. Magical tattoos were such a new concept that Hermione wasn’t able to merely go out and hire an extra artist to help her.

“Would you be interested in apprenticing with me?”

Theo tried to suppress the rush of surprise excitement that swept through him. He had been hoping for such an offer from her but was not expecting it at all today. He smiled widely at her and said, “I would love to.”

“Really?” She seemed genuinely surprised by him agreeing. “You would?”

“Of course I would.” 

She beamed at him, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“You’re a life saver, Theo. This is will fix so many of my problems here.” She jumped up from the couch and rushed to her desk. “We can work up a contract today, if you have time. There are some specifics we’ll have to go over like availability and pay.”

He watched her flutter about the desk like the bees in his mother’s garden. Frantic activity and exuberance. “You don’t have to pay me,” he offered.

The look she gave him silenced any of his protests, and he knew having her as a mentor would be an extremely unique experience.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday everyone! A quick WARNING before this chapter, I'm including a sensitive topic today that is necessary for the plot. There are a few mentions of underage relationships, but they DO NOT go into extreme detail and are past tense. I believe I have handled them in a sensitive way, but if anyone has any comments or complaints please feel free to talk to me in the comments or shoot me a DM. Other than that, I hope you all enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Love to you all, and I'll see you next week!

Hermione was impressed by how quickly Theo learned. In her opinion, he was one of the smartest friends she had, and she was grateful that he could keep up with her. Harry and Ron were wonderful friends, but she grew exhausted when teaching them. She always had to slow down, repeat herself, and rephrase the same concept multiple times.

Theo could pick up a simple concept the first time she taught it, sometimes simply by watching. His artwork was incredible, some of the most beautiful designs she had seen, and she was excited to see what he could do if given the right tools.

Despite the pleasant time they spent together, she was disappointed when Theo told her he wanted to keep his apprenticeship a secret. She understood the opinions of his friends mattered a great deal to him, but he was so passionate while learning and seemed so excited to become a tattoo artist. She would be surprised if his friends would look down on him for it, even if they were Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy.

Maybe, she thought with a wry smile, having a retired Slytherin working in my shop will bring about a more diverse customer base. The thought of Parkinson sitting in her weathered leather chairs filled Hermione with amusement.

“What are you smiling at?”

Waving her hand dismissively, Hermione said, “Nothing important. Do you think you can watch over the shop for a bit? I don’t have any appointments today, so the only thing you would have to do is schedule future appointments if anyone comes in.”

“Of course,” he said easily. “I don’t mind at all.”

“Thank you, Theo. I have a meeting with my friends and Parkinson.” She grabbed her sweater from the back of the sofa and made her way to the door. “We’re meeting here in the Alley, so I won’t be long. Send an owl if you need me.”

Theo tried not to look nervous. Not because he would be keeping an eye on Virago, but because he knew Hermione and Pansy were meeting to deal with Rita Skeeter’s article. The thought of the women becoming friends during their scheming lunches was not something he thought he was prepared for.

Hermione made her way through Diagon Alley, dodging through clusters of aimless students and chatting adults. She smiled at the carefree atmosphere. They had earned the right to wander through the Alley. It was a freedom that so many had fought for, and she was grateful to see something good had come out of the war, even if it made her trip to The Quibbler publishing office take longer.

When she walked into The Quibbler’s newsroom, she was surprised to find no less that ten owls perched on various surfaces.

“Are all of these people wanting to speak out against Skeeter?” She directed her question at Ginny was was sitting on top of a nearby desk and sorting through letters.

“Surprisingly, no. I would say half of them are her fans wanting us to back off our investigation," Ginny said with a roll of her eyes to show just how much she feared the threats.

“Is there anybody in the office?”

“No,” Luna answered from her office doorway. “I was supposed to meet with someone, but they canceled. Ginny and I were going to try and sort through these letters and then go get dinner, if you would like to join us.”

Hermione made herself comfortable at one of the desks and beckoned an owl over to her. It would take all three of them to sort through everything before dinner. She glanced around the newsroom and marveled at how big their project had grown.

It hadn’t taken long for word of what Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and Pansy were doing to spread.

They had started by asking a few friends and old school mates to give them testimonies, but soon became overwhelmed by the number of people wanting to talk. Rita Skeeter had meddled in too many lives, and they were more than ready to talk.

Harry had been more than happy to stop by Hermione’s office and discuss the numerous articles Skeeter had written about him; each one more horrible and reputation ruining than the last. It had pained Hermione to listen as Harry discussed them in a casual manner that was almost as upsetting as the articles themselves.

Hermione was scared to admit the excitement she felt with each new damning piece of evidence they gathered. She knew the Daily Prophet was a lying tabloid, but she hadn’t quite known the extent, and she was eager to show the truth face of Rita Skeeter to everyone who would look. But this story, the one sitting across from her now, the one that had Pansy wearing a wicked grin, this one made Hermione incredibly nervous and threw the rest of their work out the window.

“You were sixteen?”

Her voice was a whisper, laced with horror and concern so thick that made her throat constrict against the words. As if speaking them out loud made them true.

“The first time, I was sixteen. We met several times over the next two years, but she seemed to lose interest after I graduated.”

Hermione’s stomach twisted as a wave of nausea came over her. She never could have imagined Rita Skeeter would stoop so low. Lies, sure. Exposed secrets, absolutely. But this?

“I’m so sorry, Colin.”

Colin Creevy gave her a sweet smile. “It’s alright, Hermione. I may have been too young to really understand, but I’m fine now.” He frowned at his hands which were clasped tightly around his favorite camera in his lap. “I just want to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else.”

Pansy rested a hand on his shoulder in a gesture that Hermione assumed was supposed to be comforting. “Of course, Creevy. That’s why we’re here.”

Hermione gnawed on her lower lip and searched for the right words to say. “Colin, I understand if you would prefer to remain anonymous in Luna’s article, and it will be entirely up to you how much, or how little, she writes.” She smiled reassuringly and promised, “You are the one in charge here.”

“Thank you, Hermione.” He gave her his signature, cheek-splitting smile and said, “I would like to work with Luna to decide how much should be said.”

“Of course. Why don’t you go ahead and meet with her in her office. I need to have a word with Parkinson.”

Pansy looked both unsurprised and bored by the idea of Hermione needing to speak with her. She leaned back against one of the printing tables and inspected her fingernails for nonexistent dirt. “What upset your delicate disposition this time, Granger?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re being too aggressive with Colin. This is different from everything we’ve been doing so far, and it needs to be handled in a completely different manner. You need to back off and let him go at his own speed. Let Luna and I handle this. Not to be blunt, but we have more compassion.”

“Compassion isn’t necessary when writing a news article. He’s a victim, and Rita Skeeter is a predator,” Pansy said with matter-of-fact firmness. “The article should express exactly that.”

“I agree,” Hermione said emphatically, “but we have to be careful with the way we handle this.”

“Granger,” Pansy cut in with a roll of her eyes. “Creevy is an adult.”

“He is,” Hermione interrupted. “When all of this happened, however, he was a child. While he may have handled everything well and seems well adjusted, not everyone Skeeter went after will be.”

Pansy weighed her words for several moments before nodding. “Very well. We can let this progress at Creevy’s speed, however slow that may be. Skeeter will get what’s coming to her either way.”

Neither woman knew just how right Pansy was.

The impact of the first article released was better than they could have hoped for.

Colin had decided not to put his name in the article, and despite Pansy’s protests his name wasn’t needed. The article was written and published by the war heroine Luna Lovegood, supported by famous Holyhead Harpies chaser Ginny Weasley and Golden Girl Hermione Granger. It was verified by the head of the Auror Department, Harry Potter. How could anyone doubt the truth of it?

The amount of owls that flooded The Quibbler office were overwhelming. Most were from citizens of Wizarding Britain demanding to know who the anonymous victim of the article was, out of concern of course. A few were from Rita Skeeter’s more stubborn fans demanding they apologize and release a retraction of their claims. But the only letters the witches paid attention to were from the other graduated students that Colin had mentioned. There were a concerning number of them.

Any number of letters, in Hermione’s opinion, was unacceptable. But as the number crept higher and higher, her rage grew in intensity, and her regrets vanished.

Rita Skeeter was undeniably a _monster_.

They released three more articles that each contained multiple interviews, anonymous or otherwise, that illuminated just how horrifying of a person Rita Skeeter was. They gave access to The Quibbler’s floo system to the people they interviewed so that the reporters camped outside in the Alley were unable to see who any of them were. Luna sat with each of them in her office, letting them tell their stories and decide what went into the articles they wrote, and made sure they knew they were in control. The Quibbler became a platform for them to speak out and a safe place for them to meet.

Hermione was so proud of what they had accomplished, and so caught up in the whirlwind of activity, that she almost forgot how confrontational Rita Skeeter could be. She should have expected it but was still surprised when Skeeter tried to break down the doors of The Quibbler and demanded to speak with the writers gathered inside.

Hermione, Ginny, and Luna stood in the middle of the front office and stared at the enraged witch through the glass.

This would be a memory Hermione would definitely have to put in a pensieve for Pansy.

“Do you think she can break the door open?” Ginny looked faintly amused at the situation they were in, not at all intimidated by the reporter.

“I’m not sure,” Luna said softly from beside her. “The glass is quite thick.”

Ginny cocked her head to the side and considered the door. “True, but the door is shaking a little when she hits it.”

Luna looked slyly at Hermione. “I think, in terms of breaking, the door will hold out.”

“She’s crying,” Hermione observed dispassionately.

“The door wins,” Ginny said and passed Luna a galleon. “Pitiful.”

They watched Rita Skeeter silently crying on the other side of the door, none of them moving to either let her in or tell her to leave. They were surprised the witch would allow herself to be seen in such terrible shape in broad daylight. And in a crowded, public place no less. It was almost concerning.

“We should let her in,” Hermione said. She tried to sound firm, but her reluctance was obvious.

Ginny sighed loudly and argued, “Hearing her cry will be worse than watching her cry.”

“It might be satisfying to argue with her,” Luna offered. “Shouting can be quite cathartic.”

“Have your wands ready,” Hermione said as she walked towards the door. “She seems unpredictable today.”

Luna pulled her wand from her hair, and Ginny tapped hers nonchalantly against her leg. They both looked calm, but Hermione was confident they would be able to defend her faster than Skeeter could act.

Hermione opened the newsroom door and stared at the still crying witch outside. She opened her mouth to ask her to leave, but was interrupted by a finger shoved in her face.

“You bitch!” Rita’s voice was a shrill screech and caused Hermione to wince. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Ginny was right, Rita looked pitiful. Her makeup was smeared around her eyes and running down her cheeks in splotchy, black rivers. Her teeth were bared and had a red lipstick stain across them. Her purple skirt suit was rumpled, and there were mud stains on her shoes.

Without thinking, Hermione said, “You look pathetic.”

Ginny choked back a laugh behind her, and Rita stopped mid-rant as she stared in shock at Hermione.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Skeeter.” Hermione looked at her in disgust and sneered, “You look absolutely pathetic. All it took was a few articles to have you sobbing on our doorstep like a reprimanded child.” She turned her back on her and walked further into the office. “You have no right to cry.”

“No right?” The tears had vanished, most likely an act or an appeal to their kinder natures. Rita advanced on them, face red with rage under her makeup stains. “You had no right to write the things you did! They were slander! Outright lies, and I demand you write a retraction and an apology.”

“I don’t think you are in any kind of position to be making demands, Skeeter.”

Rita whirled on Ginny. “I should have known you were involved in this, you hateful cow! After Potter dumped you, I should have known you would try and find your way back into the spotlight.” Her angry gaze turned to Luna. “And the clueless Loony Lovegood. There was no possible way you could have the intelligence to orchestrate this by yourself. It didn’t take much for Granger to convince you to print such horrible lies about me, did it?”

“The Quibbler has never printed lies,” Luna replied calmly. “We value the truth far more than the Daily Prophet.”

Hermione stepped in front of her friends and forced Rita to focus on her. “It was my idea, Skeeter. If you must hurl your less than creative insults, they should be directed at me.”

Rita’s snarl was hardly intimidating and reminded Hermione vaguely of a cornered kneazle.

“Perfect little Granger,” she sneered. “Did those pictures get under your skin? How unfortunate. It must be so difficult to have your reputation put at risk.”

“Are you trying to insult me and feel pity for yourself at the same time?” Hermione scoffed. “How the mighty have fallen.”

Rita sneered. “As if you are any better than me. Just a few pictures and a harmless article, and you decide to try and ruin my entire career? How mature of you, Granger. You’re a real role model. A goody two shoes right to the end.”

“Skeeter, your abhorrent behavior has gone unchecked for too long. You have thrown everyone’s lives into the gutter for the sake of your own reputation, and we believe it is time you were held accountable.” Hermione let her disgust show clearly when she said, “What we didn’t know was that your articles were the least of your transgressions.”

“Colin Creevy is a lair. I would never —”

“But you did,” Ginny cut it. She twirled her wand between her fingers in a casually threatening manner and said, “You are a twisted, disgusting excuse of a human being. I wanted to put you in Azkaban and watch you rot, but my friends decided to let the public put you on trial. Lucky you.”

“On trial?” Rita let out a forced laugh that had a slightly crazed undertone. “The public loves me. They have relied on me for years to tell them the important going-ons in our community, and they would never believe such blatant lies.”

Luna cocked her head to the side and asked, “Then why are you so scared?”

Rita sputtered indignantly. “I’m not scared!”

“Yes, you are.” Hermione sighed and ran a hand down her face. “I had thought that arguing with you would be satisfying, but it is honestly exhausting.” She raised her hand to cut off Rita’s further arguing and said, “Just leave, Skeeter. The articles are written, the truth is out, and we won’t be apologizing. Face the repercussions of your actions with whatever small amount of dignity you have left.”

“Which isn’t much,” Ginny said with a snort of derision.

Luna shushed her.

“I… I’ll take you to court,” Rita shouted, a shaky finger pointing at each of them in turn. “I won’t let you do this to me.”

“Please do,” Hermione said and crossed her arms over her chest. “Save us all the time and trouble of taking you ourselves.”

Rita let out a wordless cry of frustration and stormed out of the newsroom, shutting the door with as much force as she could on her way out.

The slamming of the door startled the remaining owls and sent them flapping about the room. The three friends stood quietly amid the chaos, scattered feathers raining down around them. Hermione couldn’t resist a small, proud smile.

Ginny propped herself up on Luna’s shoulder with one arm and grinned. “Well that was fun.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, hear me out. It's still Thursday in my time zone so technically I'm sticking to the schedule! Honestly, this chapter is a little shorter than usual because this week has just been rough (as I'm sure it's been for everyone). Remember to drink water, breath, and take time for yourself. Self care is so important, there's only one you and you matter <3 And on that note, here's chapter seven. Let me know what you think, love always!

Harry Potter had never thought he would find himself in a tattoo shop, and one run by Hermione Granger no less.

The space was neat and tidy, as would be expected, and had a cheery atmosphere. Decorated with warm colors, potted plants, framed artwork, and cozy seating created an open and welcoming shop that had ‘Hermione’ written all over it.

He was inspecting a particularly wonderful watercolor painting of a hummingbird when he heard a door in the rear of the shop open and then shut.

“Harry,” Hermione called out happily. She wrapped him in a warm hug that felt far too short. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been well, you?”

She shrugged but still smiled. “As well as I can be. The shop has been busy, but I’m thankful for that.”

Harry looked distracted as he nodded.

She knew that look. It was the expression he wore when he was troubled by something or completely immersed in his own thoughts.

“Is everything alright?”

“I came to talk to you about Rita Skeeter.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Are you here in an official capacity?”

“No, I’m not.” He rubbed the back of his neck and frowned. “I’m here as a friend. I really should have come by sooner, but Ginny said you had a handle on things. You always have a handle on things, so I didn’t think you would need my help or anything.”

“It’s alright, Harry.” She lay a comforting hand on his shoulder and smiled. “I know you have your hands full with the Auror Department, and I appreciate you coming by to check on me.”

“And you’re alright?” His eyes were full of sincerity and concern.

“Very much so. Rita Skeeter is reaping her consequences, and her victims were given the voice they deserve.”

He gave her a lopsided smile and said, “I was proud of you when I saw that first article. I knew you wouldn’t let her get away with printing her lies again.”

Hermione thought back to their years in school and frowned. “I should have exposed her sooner.”

Harry shook his head firmly. “We can’t live with ‘should haves’ and ‘could haves’, Hermione. Especially after everything we’ve…” He cleared his throat. “You helped all those people and exposed the truth. That’s better than most.”

“How do you always know just what to say?”

His cheeks reddened, and he let out a bashful chuckle. “I had a good friend in school that taught me. She was pretty smart.”

Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Thank you for coming to check on me, Harry. I appreciate it.”

“Well, I also came because I haven’t seen your shop yet.”

“That’s true,” she said with a frown. “I meant to invite everyone over for the grand opening, but life sort of got away from me for a bit.”

“It happens.” Harry looked around the shop and said, “It really is impressive, you know. I always knew you’d run something someday, but I always thought it’d be the Ministry.”

Hermione laughed. “I get enough headaches without trying to run our entire world. I am much happier where I am.”

“I can tell,” he said with a smile. “You seem much happier now than you were.”

Regrets bubbled up inside her, but she pushed them down again. “I truly love what I do, Harry. I am very happy here.”

He nodded and looked once more at the artwork hanging on her walls. “Do you think I ought to get one?”

Hermione blinked in surprise. “Harry, you don’t have to get a tattoo just because you came into my shop.”

“That’s not the only reason,” he said with a shrug. “I want to support you, and I think they’re really neat. Luna showed me the one you gave her on her ribs.”

“Her mother’s name?”

Harry nodded. “She told me it was special.”

Hermione’s smile carried tones of sadness as she explained, “Yes, I enchanted it to grow warm when Luna touches it. The ink recognizes her finger print; this way when she misses her mother, she can have a touch of comfort.”

Harry’s eyes took on a far off look, seeing through her and into a memory she could only guess at.

She waited patiently for several moments, and when his eyes began to focus again she asked, “Would you like something similar?”

“For Sirius,” he said quietly. “And Remus.”

Considering him and the names he mentioned, she said, “I think I have a few ideas, but I’ll need to sketch them out for you to see. We can sit in my office while I do since it may take me a while.”

Harry murmured his agreement and followed her through the back of the shop and into her cozy office. He flopped lazily onto the large sofa across from the fireplace and used his wand to light the wood she already had inside. He watched the flames dance while Hermione busied herself with finding her notebook and starting his tattoo design.

She kept the design on the smaller side, not at all the large pieces she was growing accustom to doing. With it being Harry’s first tattoo she didn’t want to overwhelm him, and he could always come back to add more later on.

The design was all black ink and rather simple. A crescent moon was drawn in the center of the paper with a black grim curled up beneath it. A small owl drifted in an invisible breeze and, with a little work, would come to perch on the lower point of the moon. Whips of pale gray shadows would drift around the moon and, every so often, would gather to form a faint silhouette of a stag.

When she turned the sketchbook around, her watery gaze was mirrored in Harry’s green eyes. He brushed tentative fingers over the image, taking in every detail.

His mouth opened and closed several times before he merely nodded his head.

They quickly readied Hermione’s equipment and sanitized one of the work rooms. Harry was surprisingly chipper about the whole process, asking her a hundred questions and chattering away about work. She let him talk, a contended smile on her face.

She loved the normalcy of it. Her years in the muggle world had been wonderful, but she had missed her friends deeply. Harry had always been such pleasant company, never afraid of comfortable silences or long conversations. Especially once he had grown comfortable in the dorms, she would have been hard pressed to find a situation in which Harry didn’t have something to say.

When she had finally finished, Harry stood before a mirror and modeled his new shoulder tattoo. She had ended up adding the Sirius constellation above the crescent moon, and the entire image took up the majority of Harry’s right shoulder. The magic in the ink was keyed into his finger prints and would grow slightly warm any time he touched it. She had added bits of blue ink to the design to give it more depth and texture, especially to the stag patronus.

“It’s perfect, Hermione.” Harry’s grin stretched from ear to ear and was extremely contagious.

“I’m glad you like it.” She pointed to the grim curled up beneath the moon and said, “I thought about adding some life to this bit here, sort of like the owl, but Sirius was always falling asleep at meetings and around Grimmauld Place. It only seemed right for him to sleep through a tattoo as well.”

Harry gave a watery chuckle and, with tears in his eyes, said, “He wouldn’t want it any other way.”

The peace of the afternoon was shattered by the front door banging open.

“Oi, Hermione!”

Harry’s eyes widened at the distinct sound of Ginny yelling through the shop.

Hermione only rolled her eyes and shouted back, “We’re in here!”

Ginny burst into the room, a rumpled newspaper clutched in one hand and cheeks flushed with excitement. “Hermione, I have the best news!” She glanced over and said, “Hi, Harry,” then turned back to Hermione and shoved the newspaper into her hands. “You have to read this immediately.”

Taking the horribly wrinkled newspaper and doing her best to flatten it out, Hermione glanced at the title. Her jaw dropped open, and her eyes raced to take in every word on the page.

“What is it?” Harry tried to peer over Hermione’s shoulder while pulling on his shirt.

“The Daily Prophet’s front page.” Hermione read aloud, “Rita Skeeter sentenced in private Wizengamot Court this morning, receives forty year sentence in Azkaban.”

Ginny was bouncing on her toes with a wide grin and mischief in her eyes. “She’ll be old and wrinkled when she gets out,” she crowed. “Ugly and old!”

“Ginny,” Hermione reprimanded.

“Oh, come on! You know you’re just as thrilled as I am.”

It was true. Hermione had hoped for a good outcome to their hard work, but she had never expected this. For once, the Wizengamot had done their job and done it well. It would be just as Ginny had said: Rita Skeeter would be old before she saw the outside of her Azkaban cell again.

And that suited Hermione very well.

—..—

Theo was startled from his book by the sound of his floo igniting. Pansy and Draco stepped smoothly from his fireplace, brushing off soot from their robes and each carrying a newspaper in their hands.

Pansy’s smug smile made him immediately set down his book.

“You’re welcome,” was all she said as she handed him the paper.

Draco tossed his on the coffee table and went to pour the three of them drinks while Theo read.

Theo perused the article with slowly mounting shock, and when he finished, he shook his head with a bewildered smile. “You managed to get her arrested.”

“Did you ever doubt me,” Pansy asked with a satisfied sip of her drink. “It was child’s play.”

“I’m honestly just relieved you didn’t kill the witch.”

Pansy placed a delicate hand against her chest in a mockingly indignant manner. “Theo, I would never.”

“Oh you would,” Draco argued. “But we wouldn’t read about it in the Prophet.”

Her smile was devious with a hint of wicked. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

“I’m impressed you and Granger were able to get along long enough to deal with Skeeter,” Draco observed. His tone was casual, but his gaze was calculating. “You never did like her in school.”

“I was surprised as well,” she agreed with a small smile. “She has changed, though; she’s not as tightly wound as she was in school. She might grow on me.”

Draco choked on his drink, surprise written across his features as he tried to correct his breathing.

Even Theo gazed at her in shock.

“Boys,” she drawled with a roll of her eyes. “Please be adults about this.”

“I am,” Draco protested through choked gasps. “It’s just that you hated her for so long.”

“Hate is a strong word.”

“And one you used quite often,” Theo observed. “Especially in regards to Granger.”

“Yes, well.” Pansy inspected her nails carefully, her clipped tone of voice telling the two men that the conversation was over as far as she was concerned.

They knew better than to argue with her.

“Speaking of Granger,” Draco said to Theo with a pointed look. “Have you been to see her again?”

Theo tried very hard to keep a neutral expression on his face. He couldn’t lie to his friends, but telling them about his new apprenticeship did not seem like a good idea either.

“I have,” he said carefully. “Why do you ask?”

Draco swirled his glass slowly, gazing at the contents with an unreadable expression. “Merely curious about those pictures Skeeter managed to take. As well as the magical tattoos, of course.”

Theo skipped over the first half of what he said entirely and asked, “Thinking about getting one yourself?”

Both Theo and Pansy watched Draco’s reaction carefully.

His expression didn’t change, and neither did his gaze raise from the amber contents of his glass, but his cheeks became ever so flushed. Unnoticeable to an outsider, but his friends picked up on it immediately.

“I think they’re rather interesting,” Pansy commented casually. “Rumor has it they’re becoming rather common place now.”

Theo nodded and said, “I hear most of the major players from school have a few. Weasley, Lovegood, and possibly even Greengrass.”

Draco’s eyes were guarded when he looked up at them. His brow furrowed slightly when he asked, “Greengrass went there?”

“She’s been rather carefree since her affair went public,” Pansy said. “I wouldn’t be surprised in the least if that rumor was true.”

“Can you believe she and Tracey Davis?” Draco scoffed but the corner of his mouth pulled up into an amused smirk. “I knew they were friends in school but…”

“To each their own,” Theo said with a shrug. “I like to think that as adults and war veterans we are all entitled to live our lives the way we please.”

A quiet fell over them, thoughtful and reverent. They sat together for a while longer, talking quietly and sipping at their drinks, until Pansy and Draco finally decided to leave. Draco lingered behind as Pansy grabbed a bit of floo powder and vanished into the fireplace.

Theo observed his friend for a moment, taking in the tension that always lingered in his shoulders and the seemingly permanent clench of his jaw.

“No one would think less of you for getting one,” he said quietly.

Draco didn’t look at him. Instead he kept his gaze fixed firmly on the fireplace, his jaw clenching just a little bit tighter.

“Perhaps,” was all he said as he snatched a handful of floo powder and vanished through the fireplace.

Draco stepped out of his fireplace and into his dimly lit flat. He released a long breath and made his way to his whiskey cabinet.

After the war, his mother had pushed him to live at Malfoy Manor. Lucius had been sentenced to Azkaban once more, and his mother had gone to France to stay with friends, so she had insisted he stay to look after the manor.

He had managed one night in the place before fleeing.

His flat was in Magical London, modest but still quite spacious. He had needed a blank canvas, a place without dark memories that lingered in every corner like ghosts. No shattered chandeliers, or dark dungeons, or demolished furniture. No floors haunted by the screams of classmates or bedrooms tarnished by cruel masters. Just a place with a bed for him to sleep.

Narcissa had understood and stopped asking.

Draco poured himself a generous glass of firewhiskey and sat before his unlit fireplace. The setting sun illuminated the space in a pale light, casting shadows about the empty room. He was still for a moment, letting the darkness creep in around him. But as the shadows began to take on familiar shapes, he snapped his wand towards the fireplace and lit the logs.

His gaze fell to his left forearm and lingered on the place he knew his mark lay beneath his sleeve.

He could let her hide it, he thought. He could let her inflict whatever pain she thought he deserved because he knew he deserved even more than that, and he could let her cover the physical evidence of the darkness that lived inside him.

But a whisper inside him knew he deserved that mark. He deserved to be branded and to live with the scars he inflicted trying to remove it. Those signs of weakness, those scars that showed his deepest regrets and darkest moments; he couldn’t let her see those.

Theodore, in his opinion, deserved the beautiful artwork Granger had given him. He deserved happiness, and hope, and forgiveness. He deserved good, honest friends and a bright future because, in the end, he had never truly been a part of any of it aside from the mark his father had forced him to bear.

Nausea built in Draco’s stomach and crept up his throat. He downed the rest of the glass and threw it into the fireplace.

Draco Malfoy didn’t deserve such kindness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday everyone!! I hope this chapter finds you well :) Winter is creeping in which makes me want to nap all day every day, but I found a cozy blanket to wrap myself in while I write. I hope you guys like this chapter, I was pretty happy with the way the dialogue turned out. Let me know what you think! Love to you all, see you next week

“If you botch this, I will put the fear of Merlin in you, Nott. I swear to Godric, you’ll regret ever being born.”

Theo nodded solemnly. He had felt true fear only a few times in his life, but Ginny Weasley was easily one of the witches he could admit to being afraid of. Pansy had ensured he held the power of a witch with a wand in high regards, and his gaze was carefully fixed on the one currently sticking out of Ginny’s boot.

“Ginny, back off him already.” Hermione entered the room with a disapproving glare in Ginny’s direction and a tray of tattooing equipment in her arms. “I trained him myself, and you trust me don’t you?”

Ginny fixed Theo with one more intimidating glare before smiling sweetly at Hermione. “Of course I trust you, Hermione. I might question your sanity in certain apprentice decisions, but I trust you.”

“Then hush up already and get in the chair.”

Theo’s foot bounced restlessly as though it could shake the nerves from his system. 

Ginny had come into the shop looking to get yet another tattoo, and Hermione had decided it was the perfect opportunity for Theo to have his first client. In theory, having one of Hermione’s close friends as his first official tattoo was the ideal situation, but Ginny Weasley was a loose canon on a good day.

“Theo, you look like you might vomit.” Hermione grinned at him and shoved the tray into his hands. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“No, of course not.” He shook his head a bit too frantically and said, “If you believe I’m ready, then I am.”

She held his gaze for several beats for silence. Her eyes searched his for any sign of doubt, and when she found none she smiled. “Good. Then wash up, and I’ll get Ginny prepped.”

Theo moved to wash his hands in the small hand sink and felt his nervous energy quickly bloom into excitement. He couldn’t resist the small smile that quirked up the corners of his mouth. He was about to give Ginny a tattoo, and it would be entirely his design.

When Ginny had come into Virago that morning, she had declared to them both that she didn’t have any ideas or care at all what the design ended up being. She simply wanted a new tattoo, this time on her left inner wrist, and she would let Theo and Hermione decide what they put there. It had taken Hermione all of a breath to grin mischievously at Theo and announce he would be designing and tattooing Ginny.

Perhaps Ginny wasn’t entirely wrong to question Hermione’s sanity.

Nevertheless, he was excited.

His design was small but not entirely simple. The inner wrist was a smaller area to work with than he would like, but he was thankful his first piece wasn’t large. He gathered several colored inks that he would need and took a seat beside Ginny.

“Are you sure you don’t want to see the design first?”

Ginny rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t lose confidence before you even begin, Nott.”

He raised his eyebrows at her and clipped his wand into the tattooing machine. “Last chance to back out. After this you will have a permanent marking from a Slytherin on your body.”

“When you put it like that,” she drawled with a sly grin. “Do your worst.”

Theo was surprised by Ginny’s composure throughout the whole process. She sat calmly in the chair, chatting away with Hermione and seemingly oblivious to the feeling of the ink spreading under her skin. He knew his experience had been exceptionally painful due to his dark mark and that most normal tattoos hurt far less than his, but he was still impressed.

Hermione tried to pull him into the conversation several times, but after being rebuffed each time she left him alone with his work.

“Well look at that,” Ginny said when he was finally finished. “Hermione really did teach you everything she knew.”

“There’s more to it than you think,” he said with a proud smile. “Watch.”

Small black footsteps were inked onto Ginny's inner wrist. They looped around the skin in the curvy shape of a 'W', and as they watched it faded into her skin until the footsteps disappeared entirely. Ginny was about to comment on how lame a vanishing tattoo was, but stopped as bright orange ink bled across her skin from the points the footsteps had disappeared. A vibrant, colorful 'W' in shades of red and orange appeared, and it took her no time at all to realize it was the Weasley Wizard Wheezes symbol. Black letters formed below it, as though written by an invisible quill, and the phrase 'Mischief Managed' appeared beneath the new tattoo. She watched quietly as those letters faded as well and were replaced by small black footsteps.

Theo watched her carefully for any signs of regret or anger. It was a gamble; Hermione had told him he should add that phrase to the tattoo, and despite only knowing it had some vague connection to her twin brothers he still felt as though it was a line he shouldn’t have crossed. It felt too personal.

Bright brown eyes met his, and he found a well of admiration brewing inside them.

“Thank you,” she murmured. Her eyes drifted back to her wrist and lingered there. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Hermione patted him on the shoulder, and he took that as his queue to leave. He was happy to flee the heavy tension that was settling over the room.

Ginny ran a gentle finger over the lettering of her tattoo and released a weary sigh.

“I’m sorry I left so suddenly,” Hermione said suddenly. The words had been weighing on her for so long that they seemed to tumble from her lips. “I should have stayed a little longer, especially with everything…”

“Don’t apologize.” Ginny leveled stern, brown eyes at her. “Our grief was not your burden to bare.”

Hermione nodded and swallowed thickly. “How is Molly?”

“She still has hard days, but she’s doing much better than she was.” Ginny ran a tired hand over her face and frowned. “She still has a hard time on… on George’s birthday.”

Hermione’s heart squeezed painfully in her chest. “That’s understandable. I can’t imagine how George…”

They lapsed into a heavy silence, the weight of the loss of Fred nearly tangible between them.

Ginny rubbed her thumb over her new tattoo and glanced over at Hermione with a coy smile. “So Theodore Nott, huh?”

“Who would have thought?” Hermione chuckled and said, “He has a passion for it that’s hard to find.”

“I think he’s good for you.”

Hermione glanced at her quickly, arguments already on the tip of her tongue.

“As a friend,” Ginny said teasingly with a laugh. “I know we all get caught up in our lives, so I’m glad you have someone to keep you company here.”

“He’s rather different than I expected,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “I suppose I never looked past the silver and green tie; it makes me wonder if we would’ve been good mates in school.”

Ginny shrugged. “Who knows? Nobody’s wearing ties anymore, so we might as well get to know the people who used to wear them. You know Neville is dating a Hufflepuff?”

Hermione grinned and asked, “Is he really? Good for him.”

“Yeah, so if you ever wanted,” Ginny drawled with a sly grin, “we might be able to look past any old school rivalries for you, too.”

“Oh please,” Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. “I think the newspapers have had enough fun with my almost-dating-life as it is. I would rather not give them any real ammunition.”

Ginny shrugged, but that mischievous twinkle, so reminiscent of Fred, still lingered in her eyes. “Just food for thought.”

—..—

Draco made his way into Black Dragon Brews, a small cafe that had opened up during the post-war reconstruction in Diagon Alley. It was a cozy shop, tucked into a corner of the Alley away from prying eyes.

He found Luna easily, perched at their usual table beside the fireplace and with a delicate teacup in her hands. She was gazing dreamily into the fire, a small smile fixed on her lips. The scarf she had wrapped around her was far too big and made her look even smaller than usual.

She turned her wistful smile towards him as he approached the table and said, “Good morning, Draco. Is it Sunday already?”

“It is, Luna. Do you come here every day?”

“Only sometimes and usually.” She took a sip of her tea and hummed. “They make the most delicious earl grey tea with a dash of cream and comfort.”

A waitress came over to greet them both and ask Draco for his order.

He ordered his usual, “A black coffee with hints of hope and a lucky honey scone, please.”

Luna surveyed him while he waited for his drink, carefully watching his body language and facial expressions. “You’re stressed,” she observed bluntly. “More so than usual.”

Draco nodded in agreement, knowing it would be futile to attempt to lie to her. “These last few weeks have been eventful to say the least.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

He was saved from answering when his order arrived. He smiled in thanks to the waitress who brought him his food and drink, but the smile swiftly faded when she left. His exhaustion weighted heavily in his bones, and he picked up his coffee eagerly in search of caffeine. Too eagerly; he winced when the hot drink burned his tongue. The bitter coffee mixed well with the sweet undertones of hope and warmed his insides pleasantly.

Luna’s eyes roved the room, no doubt tracking one of her invisible creatures he could never see, and she asked, “Have you been by Hermione’s shop yet?”

Draco hated how she did that. Luna was wickedly perceptive and had the unnerving ability to ask questions that always felt like she was reading his mind. “No, I haven’t.” He blew gently on his coffee before adding, “Theodore has been.”

“So I saw,” she said with a sly smile. Her eyes met his in that unflinching way of hers and sent warning bells ringing in his head. “Hermione managed to do something quite spectacular for him.”

“So I heard,” he said carefully. He held her gaze for a moment longer before he became too uncomfortable and looked down at his still steaming coffee. “He was quite moved by the whole ordeal when I saw him.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

He had been. The emotional turmoil that had sprung up the night Theo had gotten his tattoo was still swirling in Draco’s mind. It stole his ability to sleep and kept him pacing into the early hours of the morning. The boy inside him, the boy he thought had vanished after the war, was clamoring for him to go find Granger and demand she hide his mark. The idea of redemption of any kind was intoxicating and quickly became the only thing he could think about.

But that other voice, the hissing darkness that took up residence after the war, was far from kind. It drowned out the sound of that boy he had once been and reminded him of all the reasons why he didn’t deserve such redemption. It whispered twisted truths and painful memories that ensured he kept such hope locked away and buried inside him.

“You need to drink your coffee,” Luna said softly. Her voice broke through his downward spiraling thoughts and brought him back to the coffee shop. “The hope will be good for you; although, perhaps next time you should add forgiveness as well.”

He met her understanding gaze and struggled to breath. “Forgiveness?”

Her smile was melancholic when she said, “I have found that forgiving others can be difficult, but forgiving yourself can be that hardest thing of all.”

“Maybe because some people don’t deserve forgiveness.”

“And who decides that?” She pinched off a piece of his scone and popped it in her mouth, humming at the sweet flavor. “Certainly not ourselves; we are rather biased.”

“But we know ourselves better than anyone.”

She considered this with another sip of her tea. “Perhaps,” she said, “But let me ask you something. Your friends, Pansy, Theodore, and Blaise. Do you believe they deserve forgiveness?”

“Of course,” he answered without hesitation. There was no doubt in his mind that his friends deserved and had his forgiveness.

Luna nodded and asked, “And me? Without knowing everything about me, and after only being friends for a few years, can you say I deserve forgiveness?”

Draco frowned at her. “Yes, of course you do. What are you —”

“Then as your friend,” she said sternly. “I have decided you deserve forgiveness, just as you have decided I do.”

He closed his eyes briefly and tried not to sigh. Luna and her twisted logic, they were nearly impossible to argue against. Nevertheless, he said, “Luna, I thank you for saying something so kind, but you don’t know —”

“Don’t know everything?” Her big, blue eyes gazed at him with that otherworldly and all-knowing look she sometimes got, as though the universe whispered its knowledge to her and her alone. Her voice was clear of its usual airy quality and was quite firm when she said, “You are forgiven. Your mother, your life long friends, and your new friend have all forgiven you. Why can you not forgive yourself?”

“I don’t know!” He exclaimed sharply.

The cafe around them grew hushed as the other patrons glanced over at their table to discern why he was yelling. He smiled apologetically around the room and then directed a distressed look to Luna. “I don’t know, Luna. The things I did while we were in school, the things I should have done but didn’t…” He ran a hand tiredly through his hair and asked, “How can you forgive me for keeping you captive in my home?”

“Because you didn’t,” she answered simply. She raised a hand to cut off his protests and said, “No, Draco, you didn’t. By then that place was no longer your home. You didn’t find me, you didn’t kidnap me, and you didn’t lock me in the basement. We were children who didn’t know what to do, abandoned by the adults who should have helped, and left with the weight of a collapsing world on our shoulders.”

He gazed down at his half-empty cup of coffee, the faces of enemies and friends passing through his mind’s eye like the flipping pages of a photo album. “We were children,” he said quietly, remembering the same words being said to him by another witch years ago.

“We were.” She reached a hand across the table and rested it carefully on his. “And children make mistakes.”

Draco swallowed thickly against the tears the burned his eyes and throat, refusing to cry in such a public place. He nodded and cleared his throat before agreeing, “You’re right, they do.”

“Of course I’m right.” She bounced back in her chair, and the tense atmosphere began to fade. 

Draco smiled at her, but it quickly changed to a look of shock when he realized his honey scone was in her hand. “Luna,” he said indignantly. “That’s my scone.”

She shoved half of the scone in her mouth and smiled at him with puffed cheeks.

A chuckle broke through his stern expression, and he couldn’t help but smile. “You look ridiculous.”

Luna stuck the tip of her tongue out at him, further proving his point, and swiftly ate the rest of his scone. After licking the remnants of honey off her finger tips, she said, “It was growing cold, and everyone knows lucky scones are best eaten warm. Besides, I need luck much more than you do right now.”

He raised his eyebrows and asked, “Is that a fact?”

She nodded sagely. “Yes, it is. I had dinner with Ginevra tonight, and her aura has been very unsettled these past few days.”

“Are things going well?” He handed her a napkin and said, “I know you said her mother was less than pleased when she found out you were dating.”

Luna shrugged. “She was, but that was because she wanted Harry to be part of her family so bad. I told her to have Ronald start dating him, but she didn’t seem to like that idea very much.”

Draco choked back a laugh. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Well, Ronald was dating Romilda Vane at the time. Come to think of it, she didn’t like my idea very much either.”

“Regardless,” Draco said with quiet laughter. “I am glad things are going well for you.”

They ordered another drink each and spent the rest of their brunch talking about much lighter topics. Draco offered updates on Narcissa and her stay in France; her letters growing longer and more detailed with each month she was there. He asked after Luna’s father, and she was more than happy to inundate him with the vast amount of knowledge Xenophilius was collecting on his latest creature expedition.

When the lunch crowd had come and gone, Luna made plans to meet with him again the following Sunday, same time and same place as always, and quickly left the shop.

Draco took his time finishing his coffee and enjoying the quiet atmosphere of the coffee shop as more people left, no doubt to shop around the Alley. Eventually, he and two or three other customers were the only ones left. The two cups of coffee and hope filled him with a light, contented feeling. He knew from experience it would only last a few hours, but it was one of the few things he looked forward to each week.

He considered his conversation with Luna and smiled to himself. She was the oddest friend he had, but Luna was by far one of the most precious. He regretted taking so long to get to know her.

Her words from earlier were lingering with him, the certainty in her gaze and voice had been jarring compared to her usual carefree manner. And although he hated to admit it, she had been right. Despite every doubt, and despite the whispering voice that argued against it, Draco was beginning to think he might deserve peace after all. Forgiveness was too big, too difficult for him to allow himself, but peace? He could allow that.

His mind made up, Draco finished his coffee and began debating the fastest route to Theo’s flat.

Draco signaled for one of the waitresses and gave her an appraising look as she approached.

A pink blush spread over her cheeks, and she nervously tucked her loose brown hair behind her ear. “Can I get you something?”

He smirked at her which only caused her blush to darken. “I seem to be running late for a meeting,” he lied smoothly, “and need to get to my office quite quickly. Would it be alright if I use your floo?”

The waitress glanced nervously around the mostly empty cafe and then towards to door leading to the back room. “We aren’t supposed to let customers use it,” she answered with an apologetic wince.

Draco pouted slightly. “Can you make an exception? I’ll be quick.” He let his pout shift into a coy smile and was rewarded with another pretty blush.

“I suppose, if you’re quick.” She smiled shyly at him. “The manager is on break, so he probably won’t notice.”

“Thanks, love. You’re a life saver.” He gave her a quick wink on his way to the fireplace and grinned as she rushed away, no doubt to giggle and simper with the girl behind the corner.

His grin faded into an easy smirk as he grabbed a handful of floo powder and quickly vanished through the fireplace.

Draco stepped smoothly out of Theo’s fireplace and dusted lingering ash off his robes. Glancing around the room, he found Theo in his usual chair by the fireplace with a large book open in his lap.

Theo placed a ribbon between the pages he was reading and took in Draco’s rather rumpled appearance. “Busy morning,” he asked with an amused smile.

“You could say that,” Draco said. He took a seat in the armchair across from Theo and ran his hand thoughtfully over his chin. “I came by to talk to you about your new friendship with Granger.”

Theo’s eyes lit with a glimmer of panic that Draco swiftly filed away to analyze later.

“Friendship?” Theo shifted uncomfortably in his chair and set his book on the coffee table before him. “Seems like a strong word.”

Draco rolled his eyes at his friend’s evasiveness. “Use whatever word you like.”

Clearing his throat Theo said, “There’s nothing to talk about, not really.”

Frustration bubbled up inside Draco. This conversation wasn’t going at all how he had hoped.

“I want you to take me to Granger’s shop.”

Theo looked almost as astonished as Draco felt.

He had planned on easing into the conversation, bring it up casually, and allowing Theo to think he had talked Draco into it. Directly asking was not at all the subtle route he had wanted to take.

“Are you sure,” Theo asked skeptically. “You were so against it before and have refused to talk about it since we first talked.”

“I am,” Draco said and held his gaze resolutely, his panic at being so blunt was hidden carefully behind his mask of certainty. “I had plenty of time to think about it, and I have changed my opinion on the matter.”

“What changed your mind?” Theo shook his head in wonder. “I have never seen you change your opinion on something so quickly.”

Draco grabbed a handful of floo powder from the fireplace mantel and said, “It doesn’t matter. Just know that I have, and I would like to ask her for an appointment.”

Theo watched his friend disappear back through the floor and shook his head once more. Draco had behaving so different lately, cagey and uncharacteristically prone to angry outbursts. This visit would be chaotically unpredictable, but if it helped Draco… He grabbed a handful of floo powder and followed after him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday, darlings! Some of this chapter may seem familiar because we've caught up to the beginning of the old version. I'll be keeping the bones of the story so a lot of things will seem similar, but hopefully with a bit more detail and substance this time around. Anyway! Onto the good stuff, here's Draco and Hermione bringing the weekly angst!

She struck a fearsome figure with hands on her hips and a spark of anger in her chestnut eyes. It was the first time in a long time Theodore felt nervous to enter her shop. Hermione tapped her foot impatiently, and Theo awkwardly cleared his throat.

"I know I probably should have owled you first, but I knew you would most likely give me that look of yours in the shape of a very eloquent owl."

Hermione’s eyebrows creased, and a small frown tugged at her lips. 

"Yes, that look. But you told me once that this was a place where anyone could come for help and healing. I'd like to think you really meant anyone. You also told me to invite people I knew so we could grow our client base." He glanced at Draco and cleared his throat. “Consider this growth?”

Hermione sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Sure she had said that and meant it, but she didn't think she would one day have to include Draco Malfoy in that "anyone". She liked to believe everyone was redeemable in some way, but a small, petty part of her wanted to punch Malfoy in the face (again) and send him out the door.

And yet.

And yet she couldn't. 

She couldn't because of the fractured look she had seen in his eyes the last time they spoke - when he had stood in the midst of the destruction of Hogwarts and helped her rebuild. She was seeing an echo of that sorrow in his eyes now, a sorrow that she was certain had haunted her own eyes the first time she had stepped into a tattoo shop. His shoulders were slumped slightly, the weight of the world no doubt heavy upon his shoulders. It caused her heart to ache.

Buried beneath his sorrow, tucked away under the shadows of so much loss and pain, was the slightest glimmer of hope. That hope, that faint light that sparked in his gray eyes, made up her mind. She only saw it for a moment, a split second when he met Theo’s gaze, before it was covered with careful nonchalance. But she saw it, and she wouldn’t be the one to steal even the smallest amount of hope from someone’s eyes.

Her silent staring unnerved Draco enough that he leaned towards Theo and muttered under his breath, “We should leave.”

“I’m not giving you the Hogwarts discount.”

She was satisfied by the uncharacteristic look of shock that crossed Malfoy’s face. She frowned at him and said, “If we are going to do this, you will pay in full upfront, and there will be no throwing insults or rude behavior. If you insult me or mine, I reserve the right to stun you and tattoo the ugliest design I can think of right on your forehead. Am I understood?”

He blinked slowly at her, as though trying to process everything she had said. “Of course, Granger,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t… I would like to think we are passed such childish behavior.”

Hermione pursed her lips and grunted skeptically. “Well we shall see, won’t we?” She turned sharply on her heel and made her way toward her office.

Theo shoved his hands in his pockets and smirked at Draco. “I told you she would do it.”

Draco rolled his eyes at Theo but kept his witty retorts to himself. He didn’t want to get kicked out of Granger’s store before he got what he had come for.

“You should probably head back to her office,” Theo said and nodded his head towards the door Hermione had vanished through. “She doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Draco nodded but didn’t move. “Where will you be?”

Theo swallowed thickly and tried to sound casual when he said, “I will be running the front desk.”

Narrowed eyes slowly slid over the room to stare at Theo. “Will you?”

The question was too casual. Theo refused to look at Draco, already knowing the interrogation that must be brewing in his friend’s mind and afraid of whatever judgments he might find in his keen gaze.

When he grew bored of staring, Draco said, “I should probably go back there.”

He still didn’t move.

Theo smiled slightly. “You can trust her.”

Draco nodded and made his way to Hermione’s office.

Theo sighed quietly in relief; part of him was certain Draco was either going to start a fight or leave the shop. Still, he couldn’t resist calling out, “Try not to be too irritating, mate. I know that’s hard for you, but I have faith in you.”

Without looking back, Draco held up a rude gesture and continued down the hallway.

Granger’s office was, in his opinion, quite boring.

It had the expected, overflowing bookshelves that were practically a Granger personality trait, but there weren’t any other personal touches that he could see. The furniture was rather plain, but the cream walls and large window gave the room a warm, open feeling which he supposed was nice for an office. The large fireplace and blue couches seemed a bit odd, but he was sure they were for the large amount of Gryffindors that tended to gather around her. He raised an eyebrow at the lack of red and gold in the room. That was decidedly very un-Gryffindor of her.

Shaking his head, Draco glanced over at Hermione and found her rummaging around in the large desk in front of the window. He still couldn’t believe he was here. 

The revelation that Granger could cover dark marks had shaken Draco to his core. Even after Theo and Blaise had left that first night when Theo had gotten his tattoo, Draco had paced his apartment for hours trying to come to terms with everything. He had accepted long ago that he would be permanently marked by his mistakes, branded a failure and a waste of life for the world to see. In the first few moments after hearing about Virago, Draco had hoped. He had allowed himself to hope for the chance to move on from his past, but it didn’t last. He went through a nauseating cycle of hope and despair that left him vomiting in his toilet and lost to memories he had tried to bury.

But that seed of hope had lodged itself deep inside him and found a way to grow, despite the cold darkness that all but consumed him. It had kept him awake at night dreaming of redemption and peace and quieted the voice inside him that was outraged at the idea of absolution. It whispered and pushed and prodded until Virago had become more than a quiet wish. The nausea subsided. The cold darkness inside him receded just a bit, and gave ground to the distant warmth the hope offered.

Seeing Draco lost in his thoughts, Hermione moved quietly around the room, gathered her art supplies, and lit a scented candle to try and give the room a more comfortable atmosphere. She knew from working with Theo that it was best to let Malfoy observe his surroundings and decide for himself when he was ready to start. Slytherin were such a suspicious bunch, and it always fascinated her to watch how uniquely they interacted with their surroundings. Theo often complained about it, but to her their minds worked in such an interesting way. Besides, she didn’t have any more appointments for the day, so he could take as long as he needed.

Eventually, Draco made his way over to the couches and sat on the one facing the office door. He looked uncomfortable, perched on the edge of the cushion with such stiff posture, but she knew he would relax as he became more comfortable with her.

Hermione sat down across from him, a sketchbook set across her knees and a bag of pencils next to her.

“So, Malfoy, what tattoo would you like?”

A faint flush of embarrassment washed over his cheeks. “I didn’t really know what to expect or what you were capable of doing,” Draco said. “I don’t have an exact design in my mind. Theodore’s looks decent, but he said it was a… personal design.”

A small smile worked its way onto Hermione’s face as she nodded in understanding. “I didn’t expect you to have a finished idea considering tattoos are still new to the wizarding community. Theo came in without any idea of what he wanted, so I took some time to get to know him and based his design on his stories and personality. It is quite personal.”

“The tattoo,” Draco asked slowly, “it will cover the dark mark?”

Hermione stared for a moment at the man in front of her, so different from the boy she had gone to school with. Gone was the hair gel and cruel sneer that she had sworn were permanent features. His overbearing arrogance and disdain had been replaced with quiet confidence and reservedness. Had she passed him on the streets, she would have hardly recognized him.

“Yes,” she finally answered. “It will cover it completely.”

Draco closed his eyes in relief, his shoulders sagging slightly as his body relaxed and a quiet sigh escaped him.

It made Hermione’s chest tighten, a small part of her pleased to see such vulnerability. She was appreciative of every opportunity she had to help someone, but the dark mark removal would hold a special place for her.

“It will take time,” she said quietly, “and can be quite painful. I have to simultaneously erase and replace the magic he put under your skin.”

“Theodore told me.” He glanced down at his forearm, and his lips pressed together into a thin line. “It can’t be as bad as the first time.”

His confession startled her. Theo had never mentioned the process for getting the dark mark; she had been able to tell it was a topic he wanted to avoid talking about. For Draco to not only mention it but also admit to something hurting him wasn’t something she had anticipated for their appointment together. Hopefully it was a good sign.

“Theo isn’t the only Slytherin I’ve worked with.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “He isn’t?”

She wasn’t surprised by his skepticism; she had felt the same way when the other Slytherins had come into her shop. “No, in fact Adrien Pucey and Terence Higgs have both been in here several times.”

He stared owlishly at her, absolutely dumbfounded that his old Quidditch teammates had not only been in a Gryffindor’s store but had also let her give them tattoos. “And you let them?” he asked incredulously.

“Of course,” she said as though it were the easiest thing she had done. “When I first opened, business was slow and I was pleased when anyone came into my shop. Why wouldn’t I let them?”

Draco cocked his head to the side and searched her gaze for any sign of deception. “They were Slytherins.”

“So were you, yet here we are.”

They stared at each other, Hermione daring him to doubt her and Draco debating the truthfulness of her words. Finally, he nodded and said, “I suppose house rivalries don’t have a place outside of Hogwarts.”

“No,” she agreed, “they don’t.”

Her office suddenly made more sense to him. The lack of house colors, personal touches, and the like created an unbiased and neutral ground for people to meet her on. It gave them equal footing and allowed them to converse as individuals, unburdened by past rivalries and prejudices. It was, he decided, extremely refreshing.

“Let’s get started.” Flipping to a blank page in her sketchbook, Hermione grabbed a pencil and fixed Draco with a calculating look. “Getting a tattoo is a very personal decision and experience. I would like to ask you a few questions to get to know you better and figure out what you might want your design to be. Is that okay?”

Draco slowly nodded his head in agreement, but his voice of self-preservation immediately started screaming for him to walk out the door and not look back. Regardless of whatever pleasant atmosphere she had created, Granger was still asking him to do something that went against everything he had ever learned.

He knew without a doubt she would ask the most horribly personal questions she could come up with. Who wouldn’t want to take advantage of a Slytherin agreeing to be open and honest with them? After the way he had treated her in school, Granger had every right to go prying into his past and pick him apart. Perhaps that was why she opened the shop in the first place: to trap unsuspecting Slytherins and learn their deepest, darkest secrets.

No.

That was his paranoia talking. He trusted Theodore, and if Theo could not only allow Hermione to tattoo him but also spend enough time with her to work the front desk… Which was something he would need to ask him about later.

Regardless of his friend’s trust in the witch sitting across from him, his skin still crawled at the thought of sharing anything remotely private with her. Draco Malfoy did not do vulnerability. Especially with a woman who had gladly called him a nemesis for nearly six years of his childhood. Could he allow himself to open up to her? To give her the kind of information that could potentially ruin him, simply in the hopes that she might help him when she had no reason to? If he started this, he would have to let her into the darkest corners of himself because with Granger it had always been, and would always be, all or nothing. Could he do that?

He once again looked down at his covered forearm and clenched his jaw. Yes, he could. Because so long as this stained his body, he was a fractured and stagnant version of himself. If he could control the conversation and control whatever she designed, then yes, he could do this. For the sake of moving on, of moving forward, he would do this.

As she watched the internal debate Draco had with himself, Hermione began sketching. He spent a lot of time lost in his thoughts, she observed, more so than Theo. She and Theo had several conversations while she had worked on his sleeve, many of which had hinted at childhood difficulties for both of the young men. Their friendship was so close that almost all of Theo’s stories included Draco. When she had asked, Theo had been extremely tight-lipped and refused to tell her anything to do with Malfoy’s past. In his words, they weren’t his stories to tell. 

While she was curious, she knew Malfoy would need to be eased into the conversation with simple, non-probing questions or else he would run. She was certain he was already thinking of every possible worst case scenario for this appointment.

Without looking up from her sketch, she asked, “What are your three favorite colors?”

Draco’s head snapped up. His muscles were tight with anxiety at what she would ask, fingers digging into the couch cushion beneath him and jaw clenched tightly enough to ache. He frowned in confusion as her question finally registered. Was she joking?

Hermione glanced up at him over the top of her book and raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Apparently not.

He thought for a moment and slowly released his death-grip on the couch before answering, “Gray, blue, and dark green.” He waited for some mocking remark or snide comment, but it never came.

“And your favorite animal?”

Draco hesitated again. “What’s yours?”

Hermione tried to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Of course he would need her to give him information in exchange for answering her questions. Nothing was ever freely given. Theo had done the same thing, but that made it no less frustrating for her.

“My favorite animal is an otter, like my patronus.” She looked at him expectantly.

He nodded and said, “A dragon.”

She tilted her head to the side thoughtfully but not at all surprised. Hermione knew better than to mock him during such a strenuous conversation, even if his answer was rather predictable. “What about a favorite childhood memory?”

Draco’s body tensed again, his mind stuttering to a halt. That question seemed a little odd; surely not everyone has a specific childhood memory they were fond of. That must be a Granger thing or a bizarre muggle concept. He could feel an edge of panic creep into him. Of course people like Weasley or Potter would have favorite memories, seeing as they were the golden children of Hogwarts, but people like him? Had Theodore had a favorite memory? Surely not.

Hermione misinterpreted his lack of response and attempted to make it easier for him by adding, “If you have too many, you can just narrow it down to two or three.”

Two or three? Draco’s breath hitched as childhood flashbacks began to circle unbidden through his mind’s eye, none of them pleasant. He couldn’t think of even one good memory, let alone three. Sure, his life had been fairly easy, but easy rarely ever equated to enjoyable in his experience. Had Theo told her about their childhoods? Was she mocking him, already knowing he couldn’t answer her question?

Seeing a look of fear enter his eyes, Hermione realized her mistake. “It can be something small,” she said quickly. “One of my favorites is dancing in the kitchen with my mum while she cooked.” She smiled softly at the memory, her heart squeezing painfully in her chest. “It was a nightly ritual we had while we waited for my Dad to come home from work.”

Draco was so caught up in his own inner turmoil that he missed the flash of pain behind her eyes.

“We would play old swing music on the radio; it was her favorite.” She exhaled slowly, refusing to allow herself to get caught up in the memory. Now wasn’t the time.

His thoughts finally slowed and focused on what she had said. ‘Just dancing in the kitchen. Surely I have a memory that simple. Perhaps something with Mother?’ Thinking about his mum, a small smile began to pull at his lips. “My mother and I,” he said slowly as the memory unfolded in his mind’s eye. “We used to sit our on her balcony at night, usually when I couldn’t sleep. She would point out the different constellations and the stars our family members were named after.”

Hermione smiled widely and started sketching again. “That’s perfect, Draco!” She waved to him as she drew, gesturing for him to continue with another memory.

He was startled that she had used his first name, but a small voice in the back of his mind enjoyed the way she said it. Pushing it aside, he continued, “She used to have me help in her garden. It was her favorite place because she thought plants are easy and forgiving; they never hold grudges.” His eyes glazed over a little as he wandered through his memories. “She was such a gentle mother, never too stern or strict with me. The only time I ever saw her angry was the time Blaise and I stole our practice brooms from the house to play quidditch. It was in the middle of the night so we didn’t think we would be caught, but I fell and nearly broke my arm. And out came Mother in her billowing fury. I nearly pissed myself out of fear, but I was so proud that I had caught the snitch. It was almost worth it.” He chuckled quietly at the memory, forgetting for a moment who he was talking to and enjoying the few glimpses of light in his childhood.

Hermione heard his chuckle and stopped her sketching to look at him. Actual joy was written across his features, a crooked smile instead of a smirk, and a light in his eyes for the first time since he had entered her shop. That, she thought, was exactly why she had opened Virago. To help put that light in people’s eyes. Her smile softened, and her throat burned slightly with an emotion she refused to name.

She cleared her throat, set her pencil down, and said, “If you’re ready, I think I have enough information to have a complete design.” She passed him her sketchbook. “Keep in mind this is just the preliminary idea. You can obviously change it and add to it since it is your tattoo. This is just the general idea we can start with.”

He stared silently at the drawing long enough that Hermione began to have serious doubts.

Maybe she should have chosen a different color. Or tried to incorporate quidditch more. Or created a different design entirely? He hated it, she was absolutely certain.

“I understand if you don’t like it. Sometimes the first design doesn’t work out, which is why I like to have these appointments first, just to find the right ideas.” The words were tumbling out too fast for her to stop them. “I won’t be offended if you don’t like it. As an artist, I’ve grown quite used to rejection, so it’s —”

“No,” he said firmly, startling her into silence. “I don’t want to change it.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You don’t?”

“Why would I change anything?” He gave her an appraising look. “I’m impressed, Granger. Who knew an artist was hiding under all those books?”

A rosy pink dusted Hermione’s cheeks. “Yes, well, it’s still a fairly new skill.”

“It’s impressive,” Draco murmured while once again gazing at the drawing. And it was; he couldn’t believe she had managed to draw something so detailed in such a short amount of time. “How long will it take?”

“Covering the mark itself will be the most time consuming part, and since it can be painful you may need to take breaks.” She pointed at a particular section of the drawing and added, “This will be the most time-consuming area, but the rest should be pretty easy. I’d say it will take several hours, but we could probably do it in one afternoon if you are able. I can free up enough space in the schedule.”

He gave her a small glare. If he was able? That sounded like a challenge. 

She smiled slyly at him, knowing exactly how it had sounded. “When are you available?”

“When do you have an opening?” He didn’t want to sound too eager, but he was so close to getting this damned mark off his arm. Whatever anxiety he felt was overwhelmed by his excitement.

“I have plans for lunch, but my afternoon is free.” She chewed lightly on her bottom lip. “Could you do today?”

“That should work for me,” he said, trying and failing to sound indifferent.

Draco Malfoy was about to get tattooed by Hermione Granger, and he couldn’t wait.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving, darlings! I hope you've had a wonderful week and enjoy a day full of good food and better friends. I've got a casserole to finish, so I'll see you all next week!

“I’m sorry,” Hermine said again. She had apologized at least ten times since the start of the appointment. “I know it hurts. I’ll try to be quick, just let me know if you need a break.”

“I’ve been through worse,” Draco growled through clenched teeth. He hadn’t meant to sound so hostile, but the pain in his arm was excruciating.

She bit her lower lip to keep from smiling at his bravado and focused intently on tracing the delicate wings of the snitch.

Draco glanced between the lip caught between her teeth and the ink spreading over his skin. He tried to distract himself from the discomfort in his forearm by thinking up sly remarks about the things Granger did when she focused, but they of course remained unsaid. The threats she had given him when he first entered the shop were fresh in his mind, so he decided not to comment on the way the tip of her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth or the bits of songs she quietly hummed under her breath while she changed colors were a welcome distraction. She was completely absorbed in her work, and it was fascinating.

“How did you get into this?” The question was out of his mouth before he really thought about asking it, but Draco was dying to know what happened to her after the War. Although the newspapers liked to speculate, no one really knew where Granger had disappeared off to for the past three years. Draco didn’t like not knowing things.

“You disappeared after the War, and no one knew where you went. Well, Potter and Weasley obviously knew.” He rolled his eyes at the thought of her two friends and said, “They were very tight lipped about it, and then you suddenly reappeared, no explanation and a new form of magical expression in tow. If you don’t mind my asking, what happened in the interim?”

Hermione smiled softly at his questions. Setting her tattoo machine down, she grabbed a spare rag to wipe her ink stained fingers off. She leaned back slightly on her stool and assessed him carefully. “Tattoos are something I stumbled upon in the muggle world.” She paused to give him the opportunity to make a snide remark, but he remained quiet. “I found a tattoo shop while I was taking a break from the Wizarding World.”

Draco caught a flash of pain that darted across her face, and filed it away from future analysis.

“I was very fragile after the War,” she admitted honestly. “I needed to take time to rebuild my life and put myself back together. Part of that healing was getting old scars covered and allowing myself to feel beautiful and whole again. I knew there were so many people who needed the same thing, so I returned and opened Virago, a place for new beginnings.”

Draco mulled over her words quietly before a specific phrase caught his attention. He swallowed thickly, memories of stone floors and falling chandeliers clouding his mind, and his gaze floated down towards her left forearm where he knew the word ‘mudblood’ still lingered under the sleeve of her sweater.

“You have a tattoo,” he said. It was meant as a question, but came out as more of a realized statement.

She nodded, a slight flush of pride warming her cheeks. “As a matter of fact, I have many.”

Draco shifted in his seat, a sudden wave of heat washing over him and it made his mouth run dry. “Can I…” He cleared his throat and tried to ask casually, “Can I see them?”

Hermione’s lips curled up into a sly grin, and she restarted her work on his tattoo. “How about I let you see one of my tattoos every time you let me give you a new tattoo?”

“Deal,” he said a little too eagerly.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence as Hermione worked on his arm, only interrupted by Hermione’s quiet humming and Draco’s intermittent sounds of discomfort as he adjusted to the pain of his Mark being altered. When she finally finished, she took out her wand to begin casting the more complicated spells for movement and shine.

“Hey, mate,” Theo said as he popped his head into the work room. “I’ve got a quick question for you.”

“What?” Draco and Hermione asked in unison.

Draco looked sharply at her and frowned. “I’m sorry?”

Hermione looked up from his tattoo and rolled her eyes. “Theo, who were you talking to?”

“Obviously me, Granger,” Draco said with a skeptically arched brow.

A smirk touched the corner of Hermione’s mouth as Theo answered, “Actually I was talking to Hermione. I had a question about a tattoo design.”

Draco squinted his eyes at him in a mixture of confusion and disbelief. “Since when do you call her ‘mate’? I didn’t know you two were friends.”

"Am I not allowed to have friends, Malfoy? Or are you upset that your friend likes me better than you?"

"That's rubbish,” he said with a scoff. “He's only calling you 'mate' because he wants something from you, not because you're friends."

Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered, "Wouldn't be the first time."

Draco sneered, but then Theo flushed at the insinuation which caused Draco's jaw to drop in a most undignified manner.

“Honestly, Theo,” she said with a laugh. “You make it too easy.”

Theo mumbled something about rude witches under his breath, cheeks still a warm pink.

Draco blinked a few times and said, “Theo, I had no idea you were such a witch’s warlock.”

“Oh, yes, he’s a massive flirt,” Hermione said as she grinned mischievously at Theo. “Always distracting me from my work.”

“And bagging a witch like Granger?” Draco shook his head and whistled in mock amazement. “You need to tell me your secret, mate. That’s impressive.”

Hermione patted Draco on the shoulder and gave Theo a sympathetic look. “Don’t pick on him too much, he’s very private.”

“That must be why you missed dinner last week. You could have just told us you had a date.”

Theo’s jumbled protests were growing louder as his gaze darted back and forth between his two friends. “It’s not - I didn’t - but”

“Don’t worry, Theo,” Draco said in a placating manner. “I won’t tell Blaise.”

His panic mounted, and Theo turned quite pale at the idea of Blaise knowing anything related to his dating life, imaginary or otherwise. “Draco,” he said weakly. “Please not Blaise.”

Hermione’s laugh was loud and contagious, pulling reluctant chuckles from even Theo as he caught on to their joking.

“Let me finish up here, Theo. I’ll meet up with you as soon as I’m done.” She smiled sweetly at him and winked. “Try not to miss me too much.”

Theo grumbled under his breath as he left, but a small smile lingered on his lips.

Draco considered Hermione as she carefully finished the remaining magic for his tattoo. He was still surprised that the bushy haired know-it-all from his school days had turned into such a confident young witch. Inventing new forms of magic, befriending Slytherins, and rebelling against the status quo. He never would have thought it possible.

Hermione leaned back on her stool, brown eyes glittering with satisfaction, and said, “Alright, your tattoo is finished.”

The air left his lungs in a loud, undignified gasp.

His tattoo was simple in color, almost entirely black and white, but the collage of images she had created was breathtakingly beautiful. Rather than cover the dark mark like she had with Theo’s tattoo, Hermione had transformed his mark into something else entirely. The skull of the dark mark had been made into a small golden snitch with delicate, detailed wings. The body of the snake had been transformed into a lithe black dragon which twined its body around the snitch, scales glittering and body twitching on his forearm. The rest of his skin was covered in white narcissus flowers with golden edges in their petals, just like the ones he had helped Mother grow in her garden.

“I’ve added a few details that aren’t visible yet,” she said with a proud smile. “For example, the center of the narcissus flowers will each have a small star, and at night the stars and flower stems will glow to show the constellation Draco. The snake has the ability to move and will slither around the snitch, and the wings of the snitch will move as well.”

Draco was nodding along with her and doing his best to imagine the changes she was describing.

“If it’s too much, we can reduce the movement,” she said. A tone of uncertainty was creeping into her voice. “I can add some color or add movement to the flowers and things, if you’d like.”

“No,” he said with a firm shake of his head. “It’s perfect.”

A faint blush warmed her cheeks. “Perfect? Are you sure you don’t want to change anything?”

Draco brushed a careful thumb against his new tattoo, awed by the smoothness of the skin and boldness of the ink against his pale complexion. His stomach twisted with an unfamiliar emotion, and his breath hitched in his chest.

“I don’t want to change anything.”

Hermione flushed with pleasure at such high praise and grinned widely at him. “I’m glad you like it.”

Clearing his throat, which had grown tight with emotion, he said, “I can’t thank you enough, Granger.”

He smiled up at her, and the genuine appreciation in it took Hermione by surprise.

“You’re welcome.”

Hermione blinked several times when she realized she had been staring at Draco. She cleared her throat and stood quickly from her stool to begin cleaning up the work space.

Draco finally pulled his gaze away from his new tattoo, his finger tips still absentmindedly tracing the lines of the snitch’s wings, and asked, “Are all of your tattoos magical?”

“No,” Hermione answered while carefully dismantling and cleaning her tattoo machine. “I have two muggle tattoos, but the rest I have modified in magical ways.”

He tried not to perk up at the idea of her having more than two tattoos. He wasn’t sure why, but he was swiftly developing the need to see each of her tattoos immediately.

“This was my first one, and I’ve kept it as muggle as possible.” Hermione carefully rolled the sleeve of her sweater up above her elbow and held out her forearm for him to examine.

A mosaic of flowers burst across her skin in a beautiful array of colors. Peonies, sunflowers, roses, and more decorated her skin in vibrant shades of pinks, reds, and oranges; it was a floral sunset that hid any trace of the ugly word that had once been carved there.

Draco swallowed thickly. His fingertips itched to touch her skin, to feel and make sure that the scar on her forearm was truly gone. “It’s beautiful,” he said quietly.

“Thank you,” she said with a small smile. “It made me fall in love with tattoos.”

“I can see why.” His fingers tapped against his own forearm, and his eyes moved from her tattoos over the rest of her outfit. He wondered what other tattoos she was hiding. His gray eyes issued a hint of a challenge, and he asked, “If I schedule an appointment for a second tattoo…?”

Her eyebrows raised in surprise and she said, “We’ve barely finished your first one.”

Draco scoffed and allowed that familiar swagger to show through. “I didn’t realize there was a waiting period between appointments.”

“There isn’t,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I was merely surprised you wouldn’t need a recovery period before spending more time with me.”

“Perhaps, but I think of it less as spending time with you and more of discovering how far your rebel streak runs.” He gathered his coat and gave her a mischievous smile. “I’ll send you an owl.”

Hours later, Hermione was sat at her desk still considering that smile. She had only ever seen Malfoy smirk or sneer, his narcissism and infallible confidence a strong barrier against any type of gratitude towards someone else. And yet she had seen both directed towards her.

And he had thanked her.

A disbelieving smile pulled at her lips as she shook her head in wonder. That was easily the most bizarre appointment she had ever had.

The shop’s front door was thrown open with a loud ‘bang’, and Ginny’s voice entered the room before she did.

“Hermione,” she called. “I hope you’re free this Wednesday because I made plans for the both of us.”

Hermione waited until she had entered the office before answering, “Considering that is a weekday, I will most likely be running the shop.”

“Not anymore,” Ginny proclaimed excitedly. “We are going to a party.”

“A party,” Hermione said and looked entirely unimpressed. “Why would we be going to a party?”

A solemn note lit Ginny’s eyes. “Because it’s the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Madam Rosmerta has invited everyone who fought to celebrate at the Three Broomsticks. She wants the veterans to have a private place to celebrate in peace.”

“Ginny,” Hermione said with a reluctant sigh. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Ginny propped her head on the palm of her hand and pouted. “All our old school friends will be there.”

Hermione frowned. “Yes, but in the past I celebrated the anniversary quietly and respectfully.”

“Alone in your flat?”

“There is nothing quiet or respectful about a party in a pub.”

Ginny pursed her lips and hummed in thought. She said, “No there might not be. But do you really think they would want us mourning on the one day we should be celebrating our victory?”

Hermione didn’t need to ask who ‘they’ was. The ones they had lost, the victims of that horrible war would probably not want Hermione sitting alone in her flat with only a wine glass and a heavy blanket to keep her company. Remus would give her that professor’s frown of disappointment, and Tonks would have throw an absolute fit.

With a somewhat melancholy smile, Hermione said, “No they wouldn’t. Fred would demand no less than three shots and fireworks.”

“Yes he would,” Ginny agreed triumphantly. “And the least we can do is get drunk out of our minds in his honor.”

“I don’t have anything to wear,” Hermione said.

Ginny scoffed and said, “Not to worry, darling. I know just the place to go.”

The place ended up being Twilfitt and Tatting’s. Hermione was surprised to find they carried more than wizard robes and had a large collection of dresses that Ginny found suitable for parties. That was high praise coming from her.

They spent an hour or so combing through the dresses, but Ginny was growing more frustrated the longer they were there. It wasn’t because the selection of dresses was particularly disappointing, but Hermione had decided to entertain herself by finding the ugliest or most bizarre dresses she could.

“Oh, this one is horrible,” she called out with a laugh.

Ginny sighed in exasperation and turned to look at the dress Hermione was holding.

It was a purple monstrosity full of lace, beads, sequins, and Merlin knows what else. It looked like a crafting spell had exploded on it.

“Hermione,” she said, “please be serious. The sooner we find a dress, the sooner we can go eat dinner.”

“Okay, okay,” Hermione said and picked out another dress. “What about this one?”

She was holding up an emerald green cocktail dress with a high-low hemline and modest square collar.

“That’s too safe,” Ginny argued with a shake of her head. “You’re going to be seeing classmates you haven’t seen in years, Hermione. Be bold! Make a statement.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and put the dress back on the rack. “Be bold,” she grumbled to herself. “Since when were dresses considered bold?”

“Besides,” Ginny said, pretending she hadn’t heard Hermione’s grumbling. “You can’t wear that shade of green.”

“Because it’s Slytherin green?”

“No, because that was the color of Seamus’ wedding tux.”

Hermione’s eyes widened with horror and she gasped, “Surely not.”

“Oh, it was.” Ginny grinned widely at the memory. “Dean Thomas stood in front of us in his dashing black wizard robes. He looked every party the excited groom, and then in comes Seamus Finnegan. He’s in a dazzling green and amazingly muggle suit. Dean married England’s happiest leprechaun!”

The pair of witches laughed so hard they received disapproving looks from the woman behind the front desk. Hermione swiped at the tears gathering in her eyes and fought to gain control of herself.

She waved an apology towards the shop worker and said, “Please tell me someone made the joke about Dean being Seamus’ pot of gold.”

“George did at least five times,” Ginny said with a gleeful grin. “Poor Seamus blushed his way through the entire reception.”

Hermione chuckled but her response trailed off as a flash of gold caught her attention. She plucked the shimmering fabric from the rack and said, “Speaking of gold.”

Ginny turned her attention towards Hermione and gasped when she saw the dress. “Finally! Hermione Granger is being adventurous. Call the Daily Prophet before she changes her mind!”

Hermione rolled her eyes and drawled, “Who knew Gryffindors could be brave?”

“All jokes aside,” Ginny said and took the dress from Hermione to examine it properly. “This dress is killer. Everyone is going to lose their minds when they see you in it.”

“Remind me who ‘everyone’ is,” Hermione said innocently. She had been trying to pull information about the party form Ginny all afternoon, but her normally talkative friend had been quite secretive.

“Oh you know,” Ginny said evasively, “just some old classmates. Go try the dress on so I can fawn over you. I’ll keep looking for my dress while you change.”

Hermione made her way towards the dressing room and missed the mischievous look that sparkled in Ginny’s eyes.

Whipping out her wand, Ginny cast a swift patronus charm. A familiar silver horse danced silently around the room and, when it found no dementors to chase, paused before her to await her instructions.

“Parkinson,” she murmured to the shimmering stallion. “I know we aren’t friends, but I have something I wish to discuss with you that might prove quite interesting. Owl me if you would like to meet for tea.”

Her patronus vanished through the shop wall just as Hermione stepped out of the dressing room.

—..—

Ginny tried not to bounce her knee as she apprehensively watched the front door of Black Dragon Brews. She had expected Parkinson to either turn down her invitation or ignore her patronus completely. To her surprise, a regal black owl waited on her window sill when she returned from her shopping trip and dinner with Hermione. Pansy had accepted her invitation to tea and awaited a date and time to meet with her.

The party was in three days, but if Ginny played her cards right…

The front doorbell dinged quietly, and Pansy Parkinson stepped into the cafe.

Ginny couldn’t help but admire the effortless grace in her movements as Pansy ordered her drink and made her way to Ginny’s table. Her hair was perfectly styled, makeup perfectly applied, and posture perfectly straight.

She sighed quietly to herself and made a mental note to check her use of the word “perfect” when thinking about a Slytherin.

“You’re looking well, Ginevra,” Pansy said as she dusted off the seat across from Ginny and sat down.

Ginny’s eye twitched slightly at the use of her given name. “You as well, Parkinson. Adulthood looks good on you.”

Pansy smirked at the subtle quick and accepted her cup of tea from the waitress. She daintily folded her hands in her lap and asked, “Why have you asked me here?”

Ginny considered her words for a moment and said, “There is a party on Wednesday to celebrate the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. All school alumni are invited by Madam Rosmerta to the Three Broomsticks, and I would like to invite you.”

“Me,” Pansy said skeptically. “Why would you invite me?”

“My motivations are admittedly selfish,” Ginny said with an unapologetic smile. “I am sure you know Nott has become friends with Hermione.”

“Of course.” Pansy sipped her tea but kept her dark eyes trained on the witch across from her. “Perhaps your invitation should be directed towards him.”

“Not just him.”

Pansy quirked an eyebrow and allowed a small smile of amusement to dance across her lips. “Is that so?”

Ginny wrapped both hands around her tea cup and said, “I believe we have specific persons in our lives who would benefit should the both of us decide to assist them. They are incapable of swallowing their pride and seeing the potential in front of them.”

Interest sparked in Pansy eyes. “I can agree with that assessment.”

“And would it not benefit them to receive a push in the right direction?”

Pansy wrapped both hands around her own tea cup and hummed in thought. “Perhaps women can look past their childhood squabbles to assist those who need them.” She opened the napkin next to her tea saucer and spread it carefully over her lap. “Especially those unable to help themselves.”

Ginny grabbed her napkin and set it in her lap as well. “I believe childhood disagreements can be left in the past.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and said, “The gathering on Friday would be an opportune environment to test the waters.”

The hair Pansy tried to tuck behind her ear was too short to stay there, but she did it nonetheless. “Such gatherings are usually below my standards, but I suppose we could attend.”

“I’m sure the event will be improve by your presence,” Ginny said dryly.

“We can hope,” Pansy retorted with a smirk. “I’m impressed, Ginevra. It would seem your garnet blood has streaks of emerald.”

Ginny sipped her tea and tried not to look smug when she said, “Looking past dividing lines can be quite beneficial, Parkinson. Especially in the territory of love and spite.”

Pansy held her tea cup up in a silent toast. “To whichever one prevails.”

Toasting her tea as well, Ginny tried to contain her excitement. This meeting had gone far better than she had anticipated.

They finished their tea in silence. They had come to an agreement on what they had met to discuss, and neither witch saw the advantage in making small talk.

Pansy rose to leave, dusting off her dress to remove any trace of the small coffee shop from her clothing. She paused with a delicately manicured hand on the back of her chair and said, “The dress color will be a vital detail.”

Ginny grinned widely and said, “Honey gold.”

Looking pleasantly surprised, Pansy nodded. “Excellent choice.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy almost December, everyone! I know, it's not a Thursday, but last night I completed my NaNoWriMo goal of 50k words for this story! I can't tell you how huge this is for me and couldn't have done it without your likes, comments, and love. So thank you everyone! And to celebrate, I'm giving a bonus chapter today! Don't worry I'll still post on Thursday. Thanks again!

Draco had just sat down at his desk, a piece of parchment before him and a quill in his hand, when his floo burst to life in the next room. He sighed quietly and set down the quill. His letter to Granger would have to wait.

He made his way out of his office and caught sight of Pansy dusting off her robes. “Pansy, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Pansy finished picking invisible pieces of dust off her robes and smiled at him. “Draco, darling, how have you been?”

“I saw you just the other day, Pans,” he said. He leaned against the doorway, folded his arms, and waited.

Pansy waved her hand dismissively at him and perched on her favorite chaise. “Yes, yes, but that was only for a few moments and Blaise was there,” she said with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “You know he dominates the conversations; I barely got a word in edgewise.”

Draco huffed a laugh but knew she was right. “You did ask what was happening in his life, so you are partially to blame for opening that particular Pandora’s box of drama.”

“I was being polite,” she argued. “Just because I ask how he’s doing does not mean I need to know every detail of his week. That was far too much.”

The corner of Draco’s mouth twitched, but he resisted the urge to point out that Pansy could be just as bad as Blaise when it came to over-sharing details that hardly mattered to other people. He stood to get drinks from the bar in his kitchen and waited for Pansy to finally explain why she had come.

The quiet sounds of glass shifting as he poured their drinks filled the room before she finally broke the silence.

“I visited Granger’s shop.”

Draco paused in his pouring for just a moment, both to acknowledge what she had said and show her his surprise. He then finished pouring their drinks and then crossed the room to ask, “Did you?”

Pansy accepted the drink with a grateful smile and said, “It was purely out of curiosity.”

“Of course,” he said and took a seat on his couch. He sipped his drink, watching her carefully for any tells or signs of what she was thinking. She was infuriatingly difficult to read when she wanted to be. “What did you think?”

She swirled her drink for a moment, took a sip, and hummed at his drink choice. “She has changed a lot since school,” she said. “She is quite skilled at her craft as well. For Granger.” Her eyes shifted from her glass to his face to gauge his reaction, but his face remained carefully indifferent.

“Theo says she is much more relaxed.”

“And a rebel,” Pansy said with a wicked grin. “Who knew the biggest Golden Girl in Hogwarts’ history would come home to be such a upsetter of the precious status quo?”

The reminder of Hermione’s tattoos caused a wave of warmth to wash over him and settle in his stomach. If he was being entirely honest with himself, the motive behind the letter he was writing to Granger to set up his second appointment was less than innocent. He couldn’t stop thinking about her other tattoos and where she might be hiding them.

When he pulled himself from his thoughts and focused once more on Pansy, he saw a mischievous gleam in her eyes that set a bird of panic fluttering in his chest.

“Draco,” she said sweetly with mock innocence, “does the idea of Granger having a rebellious streak interest you?”

His eyes widened the slightest bit, and his body went completely still.

A wicked grin slowly spread across Pansy’s mouth and sent a shiver of fear dancing down Draco’s spine. In no way would this bode well for him. Like a werewolf catching the scent of blood, he watched her quick mind take hold of the possibilities and chase them to all their horrible conclusions. He needed to nip this at the bud before she tried to involve herself, but outwitting Pansy was something Draco had never managed to master. His mind sped into action to try and come up with anything that might at least divert her attention away from him.

“I found out the other day that she and Theo have become friends,” he said calmly and hopefully without a hint of the desperation he felt. “He might even have an apprenticeship with her.”

Her smile didn’t falter. “While that is most certainly an interesting topic that we shall discuss at length, I would like to return to the topic of you and Granger.”

“There is no ‘me and Granger’ to discuss,” Draco said firmly.

Pansy took a sip of her drink with raised eyebrows, her glittering eyes expressing just how little she believed him.

“Pansy, reject any ideas that might be formulating before they get you in trouble.” Draco picked up his glass and returned to the bar to refill his glass. “There is no evidence to indicate that my opinion of her has changed in the slightest.”

“Who, Draco,” Pansy asked.

He hesitated with his hand on the bottle of firewhiskey, and he knew his hesitation was another nail in his coffin. He cleared his throat and said, “Granger.”

“Draco, you’re an exceptional liar,” Pansy said. She held out her glass for him to take and refill. “You can’t, however, lie to me. You never could.”

Draco returned the now full glass to her and made himself comfortable on the couch. It was true, Pansy had always been able to see right through him despite his best efforts. There would be no lying to her, but he was not willing to admit to any of the ridiculous insinuations she was coming up with.

Pansy spoke gently, “It wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing should there be something more than just passing interest or intrigue. You’re allowed to feel for people, Drake.”

Draco smiled softly at her. “I know, Pans, I do feel for people. You annoy me on a daily basis.”

Pansy parked out a laugh and finished her drink in a swift gulp. “The feeling is mutual, I assure you. Regardless, if there is a little something inside you that is even the smallest bit curious about her, you should do something about it. She might be good for you.”

He tossed back the rest of his drink and considered the idea.

She frowned in sympathy as she watched him mentally list all the reasons Granger would or should want nothing to do with him.

Cynicism dripped from his words when he said, “Granger could do much better than a reformed Death Eater, and she’s a fool if she doesn’t know that.”

“Speaking from experience,” she argued, “it’s best to let the woman decide what is and isn’t best for her.”

Draco snorted. “The woman being you of course. I remember the time Pucey decided he knew what was best for you, and you showed him the error of his ways quite effectively.”

Pansy groaned loudly at the mention of their former classmate. “Adrian was hopeless when it came to anything that wasn’t quidditch,” she said with a disappointed roll of her eyes. “Especially women.”

“He could’ve been worse,” Draco said. “At least he had quidditch going for him.”

“He wasn’t bad to look at either,” Pansy said with a fond smile. “He had a nicer face than poor Marcus.”

This time Draco rolled his eyes. “Flint didn’t have two original thoughts. Too many bludgers to the head, if you ask me.” He tapped a finger against his chin and said, “Maybe you should try dating someone who isn’t a quidditch player.”

Pansy scoffed. “And miss out on the gorgeous physique that comes from such brutal displays of masculinity?” She put a hand to her chest and said, “I wouldn’t dream of looking elsewhere.”

“Well you’re running out of options rather quickly, Pans. Who’s next?” Draco sneered, “Weasley?”

She blanched and snapped, “Absolutely not. I will be the first to say that graduation should be a turning point for us to move past old grudges and prejudices. However, I would like to think I have better standards than to date the Witless Weasley, thank you very much.” Pansy flicked her hair in an exaggerated display of arrogance.

“But Weasley was a king.”

She snarled at him, knuckles whitening dangerously around her glass.

“Even Potter would be better than that ponce,” Draco agreed.

“Returning to our original topic which you so artfully avoided,” she said with a pointed look. “You do know I will have to involve myself if you refuse to do anything, yes?”

Draco sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Pansy, there is nothing to involve yourself in.”

She delicately arched an eyebrow at him before standing and walking to the fireplace. Setting her empty glass on the mantle, Pansy threw a sharp-toothed grin over her shoulder. “Two weeks, Draco.” Her voice portrayed just how real her threat was. “Two weeks before I get involved. You know I can’t resist a good, old-fashioned game of Cupid.”

Draco tried to look threatening as he rose from the couch. “Don’t get involved, Pansy. It never ends well when you do, and there is absolutely nothing to get involved in.”

Pansy grabbed a fist full of floo power and said, “The dragon on your arm begs to differ. I will see you at the party tomorrow. Be sure to wear that blue tie I like.” She winked at him, and in a flash of emerald flames she was gone.

The following day was Wednesday, the date of the party at the Three Broomsticks, and despite himself Draco was beginning to look forward to it. He had been bogged down lately trying to manage his family estate and rebuild the Malfoy reputation, so he was grateful for any kind of reprieve with his friends. Even if there would be so many unsavory characters at the party.

Draco heard a knock on his bedroom door as he tried to situate his tie in the mirror.

“Pansy, it’s so unlike you to knock,” he called by way of greeting. He glanced at the reflection of the door in the mirror and was surprised to see Blaise walk in. “Zabini, come to steal my mirror?”

His friend strolled into the room, his signature smirk resting on his face and a swagger in his steps. “Pansy sent me to make sure you wear exactly what she set out for you.”

Draco rolled his eyes and said, “Of course she did.” He looked towards the cloth in Blaise’s hand and immediately began removing his tie. He sighed and held his hand out for the gold fabric. “I thought she wanted me to wear the blue tie?”

“There was a last minute change,” Blaise responded quickly with a casual shrug. He stepped up next to Draco and preened in the mirror. “Any idea why she picked such a gaudy tie for you?”

“Considering it’s Pansy who wants me to wear it, there is really no telling.” Draco began to put on the new tie and arched his eyebrow at Blaise in the mirror.

Blaise hummed in agreement. Pansy had been in a stand-in mother to them during their years at Hogwarts, so they had learned fairly quickly not to question her. “I’m assuming it matches her dress.”

“I still can’t believe she’s making us attend this ridiculous party,” Draco grumbled.

“I can’t believe the Wizarding World’s most eligible Italian bachelor will be going to such a ridiculous party looking like the third wheel,” Blaise lamented. “It’s a tragedy.”

Draco adjusted the cuffs of his black shirt and gave Blaise a bored look. “Would you rather wear a gold tie?”

“Merlin, no.”

“That’s what I thought,” Draco said with a smug smile.

Draco and Blaise apparated into Hogsmeade and strolled towards the Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta had completely renovated the restaurant after the War and had taken the opportunity to remodel. Despite her efforts, Draco couldn’t help think the building still looked like a slightly dilapidated, hundred year old tavern. He still admired the hard work Rosmerta had put in before his attention was drawn to the other member of their friend group.

His brow furrowed in confusion when Pansy walked up to them in a beautiful navy dress.

“Pansy,” Draco said while giving her a swift hug. “Please tell me the gold tie wasn’t your idea of a joke.”

Pansy held him at arms length and gave his outfit a careful once over before quirking an eyebrow at Blaise.

Blaise merely shrugged.

“Party attire is hardly a joke,” Pansy said to Draco. “It was a last minute change.” Flicking a piece of black hair out of her face she linked her arms with the two wizards. “Enough wardrobe talk, I need a drink.”

The three made their way to the bar, greeting the friends they recognized and ignoring the suspicious glances. Draco lost Blaise in the crowd almost as soon as they walked in, no doubt to the attentions of an attractive witch, and Pansy had been stolen away by a squealing Daphne Greengrass. Draco was grateful when he found a Slytherin alumni that had been a year younger than him and was striking up a conversation about pro quidditch teams when a flash of gold caught his eye.

Glancing towards the pub’s front door, Draco’s mouth ran dry.

Hermione Granger walked into the Three Broomsticks arm-in-arm with Ginny Weasley. The shimmering gold fabric of her dress hugged her curves and left her shoulders bare. The hem fell a few tantalizing inches short of her knees and made her legs look a mile long. Loose brown curls framed her face and tall black heels accentuated her regal posture. When she turned to greet someone, her hair fell to one side and he caught a glimpse of a tattoo on her left shoulder. She was too far away for him to see what it was, but a jolt of electricity ran through him nonetheless.

Without a thought to the repercussions, Draco downed the remainder of his drink and left whatever conversation was still going with his old classmate. He quickly made his way through the crowd and stopped before the two witches.

Ginny saw him walking their way and smiled at him in greeting. “Malfoy, don’t you look dashing.”

Hearing his name, Hermione turned and greeted him as well. She tilted her head to the side and quirked a somewhat baffled smile. “I like your tie,” she said. “What a lovely color.”

Draco touched his tie briefly and willed his cheeks not to redden. “Ladies, you both look radiant this evening.”

Ginny smirked at his tactful evasion but said, “Thank you, Malfoy, you’re too kind. I need a drink, but I’m sure Hermione would love a dance.” She winked at Hermione and made her way over to the bar.

Hermione smiled wryly after her friend. “Leave it to Ginny,” she said. “Such a smooth and subtle exit.”

“I don’t think subtle is in her vocabulary,” Draco drawled.

She chuckled and nodded in agreement. “Unfortunately, no. She’s got a wicked sense of humor and a temper that can’t be matched, but subtlety is nowhere in her skill set.”

Clearing his throat, Draco held out his hand to her. “In that case, I believe I will follow her instructions and avoid that notorious Weasley temper. Care to dance?”

Hermione eyed his hand then gave him an unimpressed look. “That was so suave, Malfoy. How could a girl turn down such charms?”

His eyes widened slightly at her rejection, feeling simultaneously foolish and insulted, but it quickly faded to amusement when he saw the challenge in her eyes. Draco bowed dramatically and offered his hand to her again. “May I have this dance, m’lady?”

Giggling quietly, Hermione curtsied and daintily rested her hand in his. “I would be delighted, kind sir.”

They made their way onto the dance floor under the watchful gaze of their friends.

“I love when a plan comes together,” Ginny said with a smug smile.

Pansy glanced at the woman leaned against the bar then looked back to the dancing pair. "Don't get too excited, darling. Dancing is merely a stepping stone in the grand scheme of things."

"Yes," Ginny agreed, "but it's a step."

Pansy smiled and eyed one of their classmates across the room. "Now for step two."

On the dance floor, Draco spun Hermione in his arms. She giggled as her hair flew madly around her face, a beautiful smile spreading across her cheeks. He pulled her close to his chest and swayed to the rhythm of the music, and his breath caught in his throat as she rested her head on his chest. He looked around the room before his eyes rested on Blaise chatting up a vaguely familiar blonde. His friend gave him a subtle thumbs up and wink before returning to his conversation. He smiled softly and shook his head at the oddity of the situation he was in. He never would have thought he'd be at a party holding The Gryffindor Princess in his arms.

Hearing him scoff, Hermione lifted her head and quirked an eyebrow in question. "What's going through your head?"

"It's nothing,” he said with a shake of his head. “I just never would have thought the two of us could go from sworn enemies to dance partners."

Hermione chuckled softly and nodded in agreement. "You know, muggles have a saying. If a boy pulls your hair or chases you during school it apparently means he likes you. Maybe our rivalry in school was our twisted way of trying to be friends."

Draco squinted skeptically at her before reaching up and tugging sharply on one of her curls.

Her mouth dropped open in dramatic shock. "Draco! I was talking about young children!"

Draco led her into a quick spin and dip, leaning in close until he was nearly nose to nose with her. "Well you know what they say..."

Her heart thumped loudly in her chest.

"Some boys never learn to grow up."

He pulled her back into an upright position and found himself having to hold her upright as she shook with laughter. He continued to dance with her as she laughed, smiling so hard his cheeks ached. He hadn’t felt this light, this carefree, in ages.

Hermione's smile fell slightly as she looked past him. 

He frowned at her questioningly when he heard her scoff. 

"I'm sorry to cut our dance short,” she said with a deep frown, “but I think there's an issue I need to attend to."

Draco glanced over his shoulder and saw Cormac McLaggen talking animatedly with Pansy, Ginny, and Blaise. Blaise made eye contact with him and rolled his eyes dramatically while fake gagging. Draco quit dancing, took Hermione's hand, and began to make his way over to their group of friends.

Pansy saw them walk up and said loudly, "I'm sorry, Cormac, but could you repeat that? I'm not quite sure I heard you correctly."

“It was two years ago, while Hermione was still out of the public eye,” Cormac said. He looked wonderfully pleased with having every eye in the group focused on him. “We met up for dinner, and I gave her a little bit of comfort.” He winked at Ginny who twisted her face up in a disgusted grimace.

“A little bit of comfort,” Blaise said skeptically.

Cormac chuckled. “Some of that ‘feel better’ shagging witches need,” he said. “The best kind, if you ask me.”

“You’re so full of shit, McLaggen,” Ginny said loudly, whether it was from drinking or to be heard over the music it was hard to tell. “Hermione would never!”

“Oh no, Ginny, it’s true.”

Cormac blanched when Hermione stepped up beside him, a small cold smile on her face.

“I just thought we agreed not to tell anyone, Cormac.” Her tone was saccharine and menace. “After all, you had that little… issue you didn’t want anyone to know about.”

Draco’s eyes darted all over Hermione’s face trying to tell if she was serious or not. He caught the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth and smirked.

“What issue,” Ginny asked with a feral grin that sent a chill down Draco’s spine. Blaise looked at her like one might a rabid dog.

“I don’t have an issue,” Cormac shouted defensively which drew the eyes of several people standing near their group.

“Well, maybe not an issue,” Hermione said with a pitying smile. “But you know that little thing you do? When you bark?” She said the last part as a loud stage whisper.

Cormac’s face began to turn an ugly shade of reddish purple. “I do not bark,” he yelled, but his outrage was quickly cut off by Hermione.

“Or did you mean the fact that you couldn’t even get it up until I let you wear a pair of lacy underwear?”

Cormac spluttered indignantly while Blaise and Pansy began to laugh mockingly.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Hermione said with a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You looked great. But when you asked me to call you Daisy? I had to draw the line.”

“Stop lying,” he cried and shoved her hand from his shoulder. “I would never let you—”

Hermione’s smile slid from her face, and her brown eyes hardened, brimming anger and dark promise. “Then which of us is lying, Cormac?”

Draco felt a shiver dance down his spine, the ice in her voice was so palpable. Looking at her he could see the shadow of the fearless witch that had commanded a battlefield once before.

“I was,” Cormac yelled and threw his hands up in the air. “We didn’t shag. Dear Merlin, it was just a joke you psychotic witch!”

“Think twice about the rumors you spread, arsehole. Especially to my friends?” Hermione scoffed, “Come on, as if they would believe you.”

Cormac gave her one more scathing glare, but he was quickly pushed from the circle by Ginny when she stepped up to give Hermione a gleeful hug.

“Fantastic work, Granger.” Pansy raised her glass to toast Hermione and wandered off with Blaise to continue mingling.

Hermione turned to Draco with a large grin on her face, but it faded slightly when she saw he wasn’t returning her smile. “Was that too much,” she asked tentatively.

He shook his head and said, “No, that was absolutely brilliant.”

This time he returned her grin and allowed her to lead him back onto the dance floor.

When the night finally began winding down and the crowd began dispersing, Draco led Hermione through the room so she could say her goodbyes. She leaned against him, her drunken equilibrium needing as much stability as she could find. Whenever Blaise used him as a “drunk crutch”, he found it extremely annoying, but Hermione was adorably giggly when she drank. He couldn’t help but pull her just a little closer as they walked.

Draco assured Ginny he would apparate Hermione home, that he was completely sober, and that he had absolutely no ulterior motives. Once the slightly inebriated Ginny had threatened him seven different ways and bid Hermione goodbye, they carefully made their way to the back of the restaurant and apparated to Hermione's street. Thankfully she wasn’t too drunk to picture an empty alley between shops at the end of the street, and they quietly made their way to her doorstep.

“Thank you for dancing with me tonight,” Hermione said with a soft smile. Her face was flushed a pretty pink from the cool night wind and the warmth of a few too many drinks.

“It was my pleasure,” he said. “Thank you for letting me apparate you home.”

Hermione stepped away from him to unlock her door, and the cold air immediately leached the warmth from his side and made him acutely aware of her absence. For a moment, he was tempted to reach out and pull her back into his side, but stuffed his hands into his pockets instead.

“Such a gentleman,” she said with a coy smile over her shoulder. “Who would have thought the crown prince of Slytherin had such manners?”

“You have my mother to thank you that.” He watched her finally manage to unlock the door, the muggle key making him roll his eyes. A wand would be so much easier considering the circumstances, but leave it to Hermione to use the muggle method.

She gave a quiet cry of triumph when the door finally opened, and Draco bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“This is me,” she said and then blushed at the obvious statement. “I had a really good time tonight, Draco, and I’m looking forward to your next appointment.”

Draco’s chest flushed with warmth at the soft way she said his name. Reaching up carefully, he tucked a stray curl behind her ear. His fingers most certainly did not linger on her cheek, nor did he long to run them through her surprisingly soft hair. “I can’t wait,” he murmured.

Hermione stared at him for several moments, an unreadable look in her eyes. Just as he was about to ask her what she was thinking, Hermione rose up on her tiptoes and gently kissed him on the cheek.

“Goodnight, Draco.”

He was so stunned that he hardly registered her amused laugh or the door finally closing. Draco stood on her stoop for several minutes before a huge smile broke out on his face. All of his doubts melted away and were replaced by a giddiness he hadn’t felt in a very long time.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good afternoon, lovely readers! I'm writing to you from underneath no less than two blankets. It's not nearly as cold here as it is in other places, but I am very small so the cold and I do not get along. Can you believe 2020 is almost over? Personally, I am happy to see it go and am looking forward to all the (hopefully) wonderful things 2021 has to offer! That leaves us only five more chapters (including this one) until the new year! And I am SO excited for what those chapters hold. I hope you all have a wonderful week, and as always let me know what you think.

Hermione woke the next morning with a nasty hangover pounding in her head. She groaned and cursed herself for not buying any hangover potions since her return, and carefully made her way into the bathroom. Muggle pain killers would have to do. She distantly heard the fireplace roar to life and prayed to any god listening that it wasn’t Ginny.

“Hermione,” called out a distant, sing song voice.

“Oh, thank Godric,” Hermione sighed.

Luna peaked her head through the bathroom doorway and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Drink too much last night,” she asked softly.

Hermione nodded miserably.

“I’ve got just the thing.” Luna stepped fully into the bathroom and produced a hot cup of tea. She said, “I added a bit of hangover potion to it. I figured you wouldn’t have any yet.”

She took the cup from Luna with a grateful sigh and tentatively sipped at the steaming contents. Warmth immediately flooded her system, the pounding in her head began to lessen, and the room finally righted itself.

“You’re a gift from Merlin himself, Luna.”

Hermione shuffled out into the living room of her flat and sank into the fluffy reading chair beside the fireplace, her tea cup carefully cradled in her hands. When Luna didn’t join her, she asked, “Are you not staying for breakfast?”

“No, I am supposed to be meeting Ginny in a little bit. I just wanted to drop by and make sure you were doing alright and had something to help your inevitable hangover.”

It was odd to be on the receiving end of such maternal affections. Hermione had grown so used to taking care of her friends during school that she wasn’t quite sure how to respond to Luna taking care of her. It was nice, she admitted, to have someone worry about you and your wellbeing.

“Best not keep her waiting,” Hermione said. “You know better than anyone how she gets.”

Luna nodded but her eyes remained fixed on Hermione. “Are you sure you are alright?”

Crinkling her brow, Hermione nodded. “I’m fine, Luna. Thank you for checking on me and bringing the tea, I appreciate it.”

There were a few moments of silence in which Hermione tried not to fidget and Luna stared unblinkingly at her. Finally, just as Hermione was ready to ask Luna to at least blink, Luna smiled and grabbed a handful of floo powder from the jar on the mantle.

“You have changed, Hermione, but in a positive way,” Luna said. Her big blue eyes held that otherworldly light that always unsettled Hermione. “You have always been strong, but now there is a peace in your strength, a surety in yourself that wasn’t there before.”

Hermione blinked up at her, unsure of what to say.

Luna stepped into the fireplace, and her soul searching gaze turned into a conspiratorial smile. “Tell Draco I said hi,” she said with a wink and then vanished into the fire.

Grumbling into her tea cup about nosy witches, Hermione snuggled down further into her chair. Why would Luna want her to tell Draco anything? It wasn’t as if Hermione would be seeing him today.

She sat up straighter in her chair.

When had he become Draco to her? She had always called him Malfoy, the formality of last names becoming a welcome barrier between herself and the pompous bully. Even in her thoughts she had avoided using his given name, so what had changed? And why?

Images of the previous night began to fill her mind. Dancing, drinking, and celebrating the night away all with a certain blond wizard at her side. She had managed to forget the War, just for a night, and celebrate the victory they had won. She had honored her dead in a way they would have appreciated, and she had Draco to thank for that.

She stared into her empty tea cup. 

A swan stared back.

Tessomancy was not something Hermione put very much stock in. Anything divination related was, in her opinion, was nothing more than guesswork and conjecture. There was nothing logical about it, and she hated illogical nonsense. Not to mention that fact that her best friend had been hunted by an immortal narcissist because of a prophecy given by the most neurotic woman Hermione had ever met. Yes, Professor Trelawney’s absurdity had only solidified Hermione’s opinions on the matter. Divination was absolute nonsense.

However, the academic inside her couldn’t resist the opportunity to remind her that _Unfogging the Future_ by Cassandra Vablatsky had listed the swan as a symbol of “good luck and a happy love life”. Her inner voice sounded quite smug.

“Happy love life indeed,” she grumbled quietly and quickly stood to rinse out the tea cup.

Hangover blissfully cured and tea leaves purposefully forgotten, Hermione dressed quickly in a warm jumper and jeans, grabbed her cloak from the coat rack, and then apparated to the entrance of Diagon Alley. She could have set up a floo connection between her flat and Virago’s foyer, but she enjoyed the walk. It was still early in the morning, so most of the shops were just beginning to open. Florean Fortescue waved to her in greeting while magically setting up his patio umbrellas. Passing by Flourish and Blotts, Hermione made a note to return later and see if they had acquired that new tome on Wizarding Law she had asked for.

She was just a few shops away from Virago when she came to a stop in the middle of the street.

A hummingbird darted about in front of her face, mere inches from her nose. Its iridescent wings fluttered furiously and glittered in the sunlight. She smiled at the little creature, awed by the vast array of colors expressed on its feathers and the pale shimmer of its white chest. Little black eyes stared back at her, and its head cocked from side to side as though watching Hermione as much as she was watching it.

“Hello, little friend,” she whispered to the bird. “You are very far from home. Are you a magical hummingbird?”

She thought carefully through her past Care of Magical Creatures classes to try and remember if there were any magical species of hummingbirds in England. The particular one in front of her looked exactly like the species of hummingbird native to North America.

Her inner academic reared her head once more and offered that it might be a broad-tailed hummingbird given the pinkish red patch below its beak. _Spirit Animals Should They Visit_ by Edwardus Lima would say the hummingbird spirit animal visited those who needed to change something in their life and seek guidance. The symbolic meaning, her inner voice thought slyly, was meant for someone who needed to focus on love and encourages you to open up to the way you feel about people.

Hermione glared slightly at her inner voice and then at the hummingbird still hovering before her.

“I don’t have time for your symbolic nonsense,” she said quietly to the bird. “Fly home.”

“That seems rude.”

Hermione turned quickly to find Theo walking up behind her. He had an amused smile on his face and was looking curiously at the bird in front of her.

She blushed faintly at having been caught talking to a bird and said defensively, “The bird was staring at me which is quite rude. I was trying to shoo it away.”

Theo stepped up beside her and watched the hummingbird flit back and forth between his face and hers. It looked excited to have two people talking to it, if birds could be excited.

“Hello there,” Theo said softly to the bird. “Are you lost?”

Unsurprisingly, the bird didn’t answer.

“I was walking to work when it just appeared in front of me,” she said. “It’s a beautiful little bird, don’t you think?”

“And rather odd,” Theo said. He leaned forward a little to examine it more closely. “Hummingbirds are quite prominent in most cultures and literature and are rife with symbolism.”

Hermione tried not to groan and said, “Please don’t talk about the symbolism.”

He raised his eyebrows at her but said nothing.

“It’s just,” she said hesitantly and sighed. “Hummingbirds aren’t native to England, and most books referencing the symbolism of spirit animal visits would imply a need to focus on my love life which is not something I wish to talk about.”

Theo nodded at her sagely and asked, “Have you considered that it might not be a spirit animal? Perhaps it’s a magical species, and you were rude to him for no reason.”

“Him?” She frowned at the bird still hovering beside them. “How can you tell?”

He shrugged and said, “Not sure. Just seems like a male.”

Hermione squinted at the bird which began bobbing up and down as if to say yes, it was in fact a male hummingbird. Quickly becoming aware that the two of them were standing in the middle of Diagon Alley conversing with a bird of all things, Hermione cleared her throat and said, “We should probably get to the shop.”

Theo nodded and tapped two fingers against his right shoulder.

Hermione watched in amazement as the little bird flew over and settled itself on his shoulder. Her shock quickly turned into an accusing frown. “Is that bird yours?”

“No,” he said with a soft smile towards the bird. “I just thought he would like to come with us.”

It was quite charming to see such a tall wizard with such a small bird on his shoulder. He was looking at it with such a gentle expression and began walking slowly so as not to jostle it too hard. It reminded Hermione of Hagrid, and a nostalgic smile lingered on her lips as they continued their walk. They finally arrived at Virago and were surprised to find none other than Pansy Parkinson standing out front.

Once she had recovered from her shock at seeing her, Hermione took a moment to admire Pansy’s outfit, always put together so perfectly. Her crisp black dress fit her beautifully, and her deep maroon cloak matched her lipstick shade with an exactness that had Hermione questioning her entire wardrobe. She was willing to bet Galleons that Pansy paid to have lipstick created especially for her. She was leaned against the window in a way that only Pansy could: elegantly nonchalant.

Pansy looked up to greet them but her gaze quickly locked on Theo’s shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “Were you not able to walk past the pet store without going in, Theo?”

“He found us, actually.” Theo glanced at his new friend and smiled. “And he is welcome to stay as long as he likes.”

The hummingbird made a soft chirping sound and zipped in a quick circle around Theo’s head before resettling on his shoulder.

“How cute,” Pansy said with an indulgent smile. She turned her sharp black eyes to Hermione and said bluntly, “Granger, I would like you to give me a tattoo.”

Despite the certainty Pansy said it with, Hermione couldn’t help but stare at her in open mouthed shock. “You what,” she blurted out loudly.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Come on, Granger. You run a tattoo shop.”

“No, I know it’s just…” Hermione trailed off and looked at Theo for help.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Theo said. “I believe you were the one mocking me the other day for doing something so pedestrian as running a front desk.”

Pansy waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, but that was the other day. I’ve changed my mind since then.”

“Have you,” he asked sounding entirely unimpressed.

“I have, and I want an ink or whatever it is you’re calling them.”

Hermione pursed her lips and resisted the urge to point out that Pansy had already used the correct term twice now. Instead she provided, “A tattoo?”

“Yes that.” Pansy gestured towards the door and asked, “Shall we?”

Theo glanced at Hermione and shrugged. Rolling her eyes at him, Hermione flicked her wand to unlock the door and let everyone inside.

Pansy scrutinized her surroundings, taking her time to observe the framed art on the walls and the mismatched furniture. She hated to admit it, but the place was rather well decorated if not a bit sparse. It had a cozy atmosphere and was very welcoming. Pansy was glad the walls were red and gold.

“We can head back to my office to get started,” Hermione said. She set her purse down behind the welcome desk and pointed Pansy towards the back of the shop. “Theo, do you mind watching the shop? I don’t think we have any appointments until later.”

“I don’t mind at all.” He leaned against the welcome desk and gave Pansy a pointed look. “Play nice, Pans.”

She winked at him and said, “I’m always nice, Theo.”

Hermione knew better than to believe that, but she still tried to smile in a welcoming manner as she followed Pansy into the office. This week was shaping up to be the oddest collection of appointments she had ever had.

Pansy walked into the office and immediately made herself at home, sitting elegantly on the couch and examining her nails for dirt. Hermione was surprised that Pansy hadn’t taken the time to investigate her surroundings and mark the exits like the other Slytherins before her, but she did notice Pansy sat on the couch facing the door.

“So what do we do now,” Pansy asked impatiently. “Is there a spell or special ritual?”

“Um, no there’s no ritual.” Hermione frowned slightly and felt somewhat embarrassed by how simple her process was. “I usually just ask a few questions to get to know you better.” Seeing Pansy’s doubtful expression, she quickly asked, “Did you have a tattoo design in mind already or know how big you would like it to be?”

“I want it to span from my wrist to my shoulder,” Pansy said confidently. “And I would like for it to incorporate some sort of flower as well as my family crest.”

Hermione nodded along and quickly began sketching. “Do you have any particular colors you prefer,” she asked without looking up.

“Reds,” Pansy said without hesitations. “Not Gryffindor red, but a deep red like the color of wine.”

“That’s easy enough.” Hermione chewed on the end of her pencil and frowned at the sketchbook. “Are there any personal touches you want to add?”

Pansy stared at the floor, her posture growing somewhat rigid, and considered the question. She was hesitant to give any personal information to Granger, but Theo had already warned her about the intimate nature of these appointments before hand, so she had been prepared for these sort of questions. That didn’t make them any less uncomfortable. She could concede a few minor details if she had to. “My mother died when I was young,” she said. She gave Hermione a moment to move past her shock before adding, “Her name was Dahlia. I would like for her name to be incorporated into the tattoo in some way.”

Hermione swallowed thickly, shocked by how easily Pansy had admitted to something so personal, and nodded quickly. “Of course, we can absolutely add that. I am…” She blinked several times. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“I was young,” Pansy said casually, but she avoided looking Hermione in the eye. “I have grown accustom to her absence.”

Hermione wanted to say it gets easier. She wanted to say something comforting or uplifting, but she knew better. There were no kind words to truly ease the ache of the loss of a parent. That ache never faded, it only grew more familiar. The pain of her own loss leaked into her drawing, flowing through her and into the flowers that bloomed to life on the page. She tried to bring Pansy’s personality to life on the page, and when she was finally satisfied, she smiled.

Pansy had waited patiently while Hermione quietly sketched, her posture relaxed yet poised and her gaze guarded as she watched. On the inside, she was a hurricane. Discomfort, fear, and curiosity warred inside her until she was nauseous and ready to leave. Pansy wasn’t one to run, but she was a professional when it came to swift and cunning exits. She had three possible excuses ready for use when Hermione finally declared she was done.

The design Hermione handed Pansy immediately convinced her to stay. The paper was full of roses and thorns. Vines would wind from Pansy’s wrist to shoulder with blooming roses in shades of deep merlot and dark purple. Sharps thorns would poke out between the rose petals in dark shades of green. The Parkinson family crest was framed against her shoulder with delicate rosebuds and had her mother’s name in elegant script beneath it.

Pansy gazed at the sketch for several seconds then asked, “Why roses?”

“You asked for flowers, but I wanted to make sure I didn’t go too far to the delicate side of things. Roses are beautiful, smell wonderful, and everyone admires them. On the other hand, they have sharp thorns that ward away harm and protect their petals.” Hermione hesitated but said, “I think they perfectly illustrate the power behind a beautiful witch; that you can be delicate yet dangerous.”

“I love that,” Pansy said with a sharp-toothed grin. “It’s absolutely brilliant.”

“There’s some magic bits too,” Hermione said with growing enthusiasm. She moved to sit beside Pansy on the couch and pointed to the sketch pad. “The vines of the plants will move, not too much just slowly change positions every now and then. There’s a more complicated set of spells I would like to do for your mother’s name if you are willing to sit for it. Using your finger prints, I can make your mother’s name touch sensitive and the ink will warm whenever you touch it. When you miss her…”

Pansy exhaled a slow breath. “When I miss her, it will glow warm and remind me she is always there.”

Hermione pursed her lips and resisted the urge to comfort the woman beside her. She knew Pansy would rebuff any forms of affection, especially from an old enemy, but Hermione felt the loss settle between them and couldn’t resist leaning her shoulder against Pansy’s.

She froze for a moment, but Pansy allowed the touch. They sat in silence for several moments, gazing at the drawing and lost in their respective thoughts.

“Well then,” Pansy finally said with a sharp clap of her hands. She bumped her shoulder gently against Hermione’s and grinned. “Let’s get started.”

—..—

Draco had spent most of the morning at his kitchen table sipping tea and muttering about drunk wizards. Blaise had dropped through his fireplace like a sack of stones at the earliest hour of the morning and caused a ruckus that would have put the Weasley twins to shame. Draco had tried desperately to shove Blaise back through the fireplace to go sleep in his own bed, but Blaise had been adamant that Draco’s couch was more comfortable.

He was still sprawled across it, face down in case he got sick and snoring loudly.

Draco glared fiercely at him and considered, not for the first time, the repercussions of man slaughter. He glanced at the clock on the wall and began bouncing his knee as he thought. It was a restless habit he had developed in his sixth year at Hogwarts and had since been unable to rid himself of. He bounced his knee when he was stressed, when he was thinking, when he was worried… It was almost always bouncing.

Glancing once more at the back of the couch, Draco checked to make sure he could still here Blaise snoring. The man was breathing, surely he could survive a few more hours alone on the couch. If Draco was lucky, Blaise might even wake up and find his own way home.

He threw on his black cloak and apparated as quietly as he could to Diagon Alley.

Sticking to the side alleys and more shadowed paths to avoid the attention of other pedestrians, Draco quickly made his way to Virago. His appointment with Hermione wasn’t for another few days, but he quickly came up with a few possible excuses while he walked. He wanted to confirm the date of their appointment. He wanted to make sure his tattoo was healing properly. At minimum, he was there to visit Theo. Whether or not Theo was even there was hardly something he could be responsible for predicting.

He stepped through the front door and stopped short when he saw Theo behind the desk.

“Is that…” Draco squinted at Theo’s shoulder and asked, “Is that a bird on your shoulder?”

Theo grinned widely at Draco and nodded. “This is Widget.”

“Widget.” Draco stared at the bird and said in a bewildered tone, “It’s a hummingbird.”

“Yes,” Theo said still smiling.

Draco frowned. “In England.”

“I think he might be magical,” Theo said. “He found Hermione and I out in the Alley and decided to follow me around. He really likes my shoulder.”

“Of course he does.” Draco stepped up close and squinted at the small bird. He drew back in shock when Widget squinted back.

Theo grinned at the bird. “He’s quite smart, isn’t he?”

Resisting the urge to glare at a bird, for that would look quite foolish, Draco instead asked, “Is Granger in?”

Theo tilted his head slightly and gave Draco a calculating look, the motion of which was copied by Widget.

That bird was truly beginning to unnerve him.

“She is,” Theo said casually. “Did you have an appointment today? I saw you on the books for tomorrow, but the only one scheduled today is with Lovegood.”

“No, I didn’t.” Draco glanced back towards Hermione’s office where he could hear distant voices. She must be meeting with someone right now as well. “I can come back later if she’s busy.”

“I’m sure you can.”

Draco tossed Theo a scathing glance and growled, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Theo raised his hands defensively before him and chuckled. “Nothing, mate. Just seen you a lot around here lately is all.”

“I could say the same about you,” Draco said hotly. “You hang around so much Granger gave you a job.”

“Maybe I asked for it.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“Boys,” a sharp voice cut in. “Cease fire.”

Theo and Draco looked quickly towards one of the work rooms, and Draco was shocked to see an aggravated Pansy Parkinson standing beside her.

She was buttoning up her dark red robe and glaring at the both of them fiercely. “The pair of you bicker like old hens,” she snapped.

Their protests were incomprehensible as they spoke over one another and pointed fingers accusingly. Widget quickly grew tired of the noise and zipped over to smoothly land on Hermione’s shoulder.

Theo looked absolutely betrayed by his new friend, and then turned a vicious glare on Draco. “If Widget doesn’t come back to me, it’s entirely your fault.”

“Oh please,” Draco said with a roll of his eyes. “It’s just a bird.”

“You’re just angry he doesn’t like you.”

“I couldn’t care less about a —”

“Honestly,” Pansy shouted, “I’m tired of you both already!” She thanked Hermione quickly for her time and left the shop, making sure to give both wizards a withering glare on her way out.

After Theo and Draco had said their goodbyes, they both turned to Hermione with varying degrees of confusion.

“What was Pansy doing here,” Draco asked.

“I’m making her a dress,” Hermione said with a sarcastic smile. “This is a Madam Malkin’s, is it not?”

Theo began to laugh at Draco but quickly swallowed his laughter when he saw the reproachful look Hermione had directed at him.

“Theo,” she said sternly. “When I ask you to run the front desk it is with the expectation that you won’t harass our guests.”

“But it’s only Draco,” Theo said with a frown. “He hardly counts.”

“It’s true,” Draco said and nodded seriously. “I am hardly a wizard. At this point, I am so low in Theo’s opinion, I could be considered equal to your decorative plants.”

Hermione glanced back and forth between him and the plants in question, a considering look on her face as though she were truly trying to decided which of the two was more valuable. “No,” she said finally. “You are worth more than a potted plant.”

Theo’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I would put you more on the level of Widget here.”

“Widget,” Draco shouted indignantly.

Widget puffed his chest feathers with pride which caused Theo to lose himself to laughter once more. Hermione grinned at Draco, a mixture of merriment and challenge in her glittering eyes, and ran a gently finger over Widget’s feathered head.

He eyed her fingertips as they stroked over the vibrant feathers and a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Why, Granger,” he drawled, “If you wish to run your fingers through my hair, you don’t need to compare to a bird. You can just ask.”

Her fingers stilled, and he caught the muscles of her jaw twitching slightly.

“When I compared you to Widget,” she said carefully, “it was more so in regards to his need for attention not for his lovely features.”

“And what makes you think I am in need of your attention?”

“Why else would you have come to visit?”

“Perhaps I came to see Theo.”

She hummed in a way that told him she didn’t believe his lie in the slightest. He was about say something he would probably regret when Theo cleared his throat. He had completely forgotten the other man was in the room.

“Yes, Theo?” Hermione asked innocently.

Theo rolled his eyes and grouched, “If the two of you are finished flirting, I’m going to leave for lunch which means you will have to watch the front desk.”

Hermione ignored his comment on flirting entirely and told him to leave for lunch. He made sure to murmur a rather rude comment to Draco on his way out, but Draco’s eyes remained fixed on Hermione.

She was tidying up behind the desk, things that were no doubt already quite tidy, and looked entirely in her element. He observed her for the first time she he had walked in, and couldn’t resist the faintest smile. She had tied her hair up and out of her face today, but the curls were doing their best to break free of their prison. They fell gently down her back, a stray curl falling down in front of one eye which she futilely brushed back every few minutes. Her cream colored jumped offset her golden skin beautifully and brought out the honey tones in her eyes. When she turned to pull a photo album from under the desk, Draco caught sight of three black birds flying behind her ear.

The birds were the darkest black, but they only stood out slightly beneath her dark hair. They flew in a line up and over the arch of her ear, each bird no larger than a Knut. 

“Is that a tattoo behind your ear?”

She looked towards him quickly, a hand rising to brush against the birds he had been staring at. “Yes,” she said with a slight chuckle. “I often forget that one is there.”

His eyebrows raised and he asked skeptically, “Do you have so many that you forget about them?”

“No, I have several but not enough to forget them,” she said. “But because it’s in a place I can’t see, I forget it’s there.”

Draco leaned against the desk and tilted his head so he could see the birds more clearly. “Why birds?”

Hermione tilted her head as well, holding a few stray hairs out of the way so he could better see, and said simply, “For finding freedom.”

“Freedom?”

“The weight of the war, of everything we lost… I felt as though I were drowning in it. I lost myself to the darkness of it all and,” she swallowed thickly. “Birds are free to fly wherever they please, free to go find their happiness wherever it may be. Sometimes I wish I was a bird.”

Draco pursed his lips and felt something like guilt blooming in his chest. The heartaches she had experienced were not his fault, but he would be a fool if he pretended to have no part in her misfortunes while growing up. For her to feel that she needed to fly somewhere else to find happiness, that freedom did not exist in the place she should have called home.

“I’m sorry.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them and before he could decide what he was apologizing for. He only knew the words needed to be said, that he hadn’t said them before when he should have.

Hermione looked at him and said nothing. There was no reproach or resentment in her eyes, and he was surprised to find a kindness there. He didn’t deserve her kindness.

“I’m sorry for my behavior as a child; it was misguided, but it was still reprehensible.” He ran frustrated fingers through his hairs and frowned. His eyes danced between her hair, her hands, and Widget still tucked beneath her ear. Anything but her eyes. “I’m sorry for the part I played, and for not helping you. Especially when my aunt…”

Hermione reached across and wrapped his hand in one of hers. She squeezed his fingers tightly and whispered, “I know. I forgave you a long time ago.

He nodded, but she must have seen some amount of doubt still lingering because she added, “We were children who were forced to make impossible choices. We did the best we could.”

We were children.

Those were the same words she had said years ago in the wreckage of the battles, in the ruins of their school. He had been too numb, too buried under his grief and horror to believe her, but now those words rang through him and echoed in his thoughts. They had been children, forced to shoulder the burdens of adults and fight in a war that wasn’t theirs. They had been abandoned by those who were supposed to protect them and left to grow up long before they were ready.

“We were children,” he said. The words came out as a harsh whisper, his emotions clawing at them as they rose through his throat. “And now?”

Hermione’s eyes glittered with unshed tears, but there was a quivering smile beneath them. “And now we become who we were supposed to be, who we didn’t have the chance to be.”

Draco didn’t understand how she managed it. He had spent the last three years trying to rebuild his life, to pick up the pieces of his shattered world and find a future in the wreckage, but he had never found hope. He had found acceptance, resolution even, but never hope. Since her return, Hermione had managed to make him feel hopeful twice now, and he wasn’t sure if he should thank her for it or be fearful of it.

He didn’t have the chance to decide, as Hermione cleared her throat and let go of his hand. She brushed that stray curl from her face and held out her hand.

“I am Hermione Granger, tattoo artist and lover of old books.” She quirked a smile at him and waited for him to take her hand.

He slowly reached out, surprised by how large his hand looked compared to hers, and said, “Pleased to meet you, Hermione Granger.” He felt somewhat ridiculous introducing himself to someone he had known since he was eleven, but he appreciated the importance of it. “I am Draco Malfoy, potions expert and piano enthusiast.”

“Piano?” She looked pleasantly surprised and said, “I didn’t know you could play piano.”

“I’m still learning.” He felt a faint warmth rising to his cheeks and said quickly, “I’m not very good.”

“I would love to hear you play sometime.”

He opened his mouth to respond but forgot his words when Widget hopped off of Hermione’s shoulder and flew quickly to land on their joined hands. He gazed at the colorful creature and thought once more about the oddity of such a bird in England.

Hermione gently released his hand and lifted Widget back onto her shoulder. “I need to set up for my next appointment,” she said reluctantly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Draco Malfoy the potential pianist. I looked forward to getting to know you better.”

Hope bloomed in his chest once more, crowding out the uncertainty and the doubts and leaving him feeling warm and optimistic. “I will see you tomorrow,” he said, although the end of the sentence sounded more like a question.

She smiled and said, “Of course.” She called out to him once more just before he opened the door and said, "I almost forgot, Luna says hello."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday, everyone! I am honestly so happy with how much everyone loved Widget! He wrote himself, if I'm being honest, and I'm not entirely sure where he came from, but I've got some fun ideas that'll keep him in the story a little while longer. I'm not entirely happy with this chapter because I'm too excited for the next one but it'll do. Also, I'm heading home for the holidays next week so my updates may be a little delayed. I already have the next chapter mostly written, so I might post it a little early for you guys so you don't have to miss out while I'm flying. Keep an eye out, and I'll see you all next week!

Draco stepped out of Virago and nearly ran straight into none other than Luna Lovegood.

The petite witch was standing outside the door staring up at the top of the door frame. Her head was cocked to the side, and she was smiling in that dreamy way of hers that he always found endearing.

“Luna?” He looked up towards the point she was gazing at but couldn’t see anything. “Is there something up there?”

“Blibbering humdingers,” she mused. Her fingers were fiddling with the large dirigible plums earrings hanging in her ears, twirling them this way and that. “They tend to hover around doorways so they can follow absentminded travelers home.”

Draco nodded, though he still couldn’t see any creatures above the doorway. No doubt this was another one of the ones only Luna could see.

“Good thing you aren’t very absentminded,” she said brightly. “Unless you pretend to be. It’s very unlike you to forget an appointment.”

He blinked owlishly at her. The way Luna always seemed to just know things would never cease to catch him off guard.

“That is why you came to visit, is it not?”

“I wanted to make sure I had the correct date,” he said as he anxiously scratched the back of his head. “I threw away her letter without writing it down, and I knew stopping by would be a quick trip.”

She nodded, but he could see a glimmer of laughter in her blue eyes that told him she knew better. “I’m sure you’ve been quite busy and developed a sudden case of forgetfulness.”

“Something like that,” Draco murmured. Sometimes he truly hated how perceptive Luna could be. “Are you here for an appointment?”

Luna nodded, but her gaze drifted away from him to focus on something in the distance. She was far more distracted today than she normally was.

“Everything alright, Luna,” he asked softly. He knew speaking too loudly when she was unfocused could startle her, so he kept his hands by his side and waited patiently for her mind to come back to the present.

After a few moments, her eyes drifted back to meet his, and she smiled sweetly at him. “Hello again, Draco. Have you been standing there long?”

“Not at all,” he said and returned her smile. “Where did you go?”

“Oh, nowhere special. Just thinking about tomorrow.” She cocked her head to the side and asked, “Did you remember to write to your mother? I know she misses you dearly despite the brilliant adventures she’s having in Paris.”

Draco’s smile tensed slightly. “I was on my way home to write to her now,” he lied smoothly.

“Enjoy the rest of your day, Draco.” She patted him gently on the shoulder and added, “And be sure to wear a cloak tomorrow. You may need to leave it somewhere.”

Draco furrowed his brow and stared after Luna in confusion. “Leave it somewhere?”

Luna waved at him over her shoulder, drifted through the door of Virago, and greeted Hermione cheerfully.

Hermione returned the greeting and immediately asked, “How did you know Draco would be here today?”

There was a hidden meaning in her smile that Hermione couldn’t quite decipher. Luna shrugged and said, “A blabbertip told me.”

“Of course it did.” Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She was less bothered than she used to be my Luna’s imaginary creatures but still couldn’t bring herself to believe in any of them. “Are you ready for your appointment?”

“Are we trying the runes today?” Luna’s smile was contagious and full of enthusiasm.

Hermione grinned back and said, “Indeed we are.”

Luna clapped her hands together and danced a little in excitement. They had been working through the magic behind this particular tattoo appointment for weeks, and she was ecstatic to finally have it done.

The pair of witches made quick work of setting up Hermione’s work space and sanitizing the room. Hermione preferred the muggle methods which tended to take a bit longer, but Luna was more than happy to assist her with the fancy muggle cleaning cloths. They smelled wonderfully of lemon and reminded her of the aloysia citrodora plants that grew in her mother’s garden.

Luna brushed a finger against the thigh of her right leg, the tattoo of her mother’s name warming beneath the fabric of her floral skirt. She missed her mother and was grateful to Hermione for the small amount of comfort she was able to give her, literally at her own fingertips. She had lost her mother when she was young, but having the loss of so many others stacked on top of it made her mother’s death feel raw once more.

Her gaze drifted down to where Hermione was transferring the temporary design onto her wrist. She didn’t quite remember sitting down in the chair or Hermione cleaning her wrist, but that was alright. Her memory skipped things all the time, and she was sure something like sitting down wasn’t all that important anyway. Maybe one of the blibbering humdingers had stolen a ride on her shoulder which she walked it; they always made her forgetful. 

Luna smiled slightly and wondered if Draco Malfoy had a blibbering humdinger on his shoulder or if he was being purposefully forgetful.

“We have brunch, you know.”

“Who does,” Hermione asked without looking up.

Luna smile was conspiratorial and answered, “Draco and I.”

That got the reaction she was hoping for. Hermione’s gaze snapped up to meet Luna’s, and shock painted her features. “You do?”

“Every Sunday,” Luna said in a sing-song voice.

“Since when,” Hermione demanded.

“For the last two years, I’d say,” she said while thoughtfully tapping a fingertip against her chin. “I don’t quite remember how it started, but I am thankful for his friendship. Our friends are rather rambunctious, so it’s nice to have someone calm to talk to every now and then.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed slightly, but she tried not to fully frown at Luna. “I understand wanting someone calm considering you spend every day with Ginny, but…” Hermione hesitated before blurting out, “Draco Malfoy of all people?”

Luna looked rather unimpressed by Hermione’s surprise. She pursed her lips and said with a disappointed tone, “Does becoming friends with past enemies a privilege only you are allowed?”

“No, of course not,” Hermine said quickly. “I just—”

“Theodore Nott isn’t the only one who deserves friendship,” Luna said sternly. “He isn’t the only one who suffered during the war, and he isn’t the only one who is in need of kindness. Rather than looking at it as two enemies associating with someone they shouldn’t, try looking at it as two strangers meeting once a week to provide the smallest sense of stability in a world that refuses to sit still.”

Hermione looked reasonably chastised and murmured a quiet apology. She worked silently for several minutes, turning Luna’s words over and over in her mind. She knew Draco Malfoy had friends, everyone had friends. But Luna Lovegood was friends with Draco Malfoy? Brunch friends?

The idea made her acutely uncomfortable.

She focused carefully on the runes slowly wrapping there way around Luna’s left wrist and gnawed on her bottom lip. Most days she could lose herself in the work, lose herself to the ink and the colors and the art. Her thoughts would quiet, and the world would fall away until it was just Hermione, her wand, and the blank canvas under her fingertips. But the words Luna had said circled in her mind like a lazy river full of heavy and uncomfortable truths. Despite her pleasant conversations and friendly encounters with him, Hermione still struggled to accept that Draco Malfoy had changed so much from the boy she had known. It spoke volumes that someone as kind and genuine as Luna would befriend him, but it still made Hermione incredibly wary.

“He’s truly changed?” Her voice was soft, the words catching on the fear in her throat.

Luna’s eyes softened. “He has,” she said emphatically. “That boy we knew was stuck in the grip of one of the cruelest wizards to exist.”

“Voldemort,” Hermione said with a solemn nod of her head.

“Lucius Malfoy.”

Her gaze snapped back to Luna’s and her brow furrowed deeply. “Excuse me?”

Luna’s big blue eyes were filled with an empathetic pain Hermione had felt for only a precious few. “The boy we knew held an entire childhood of pain, unreachable expectations, and pureblood dogma inside himself that it began to fester from the inside out. While we were struggling with homework and classes, Draco was faced with one impossible choice after another.”

Hermione opened her mouth to ask her to elaborate, but Luna cut her off with a firm shake of her head.

“No, that’s not my story to tell.” She sighed heavily, and for the first time since Hermione had met her, Luna looked fully present and world weary. When their eyes met, Luna looked more serious than she had during the Battle of Hogwarts, and Hermione could do nothing but listen.

“Give him a chance,” Luna said quietly. “Just one.”

Hermione nodded quickly; she would agree to anything to get Luna to return to her normal, non-serious self.

It worked. Luna’s eyes clouded over with a far-seeing haze and she asked, “Can we return to the tattoo, please?”

“Of course.” Hermione squared her shoulders and made swift work of the rest of Luna’s tattoo. When she finished, a small ring of delicate black runes encircled Luna’s left wrist.

The runes around the back of Luna’s wrist were a combination that would boost protection, healing, clarity, and strength. Along the inside of her wrist, completing the circle, were a series of moon glyphs carrying the same meaning. They had spent only a few moments designing the rune sequence, but the magic itself had been the most time consuming part for them. Hermione had tried tattooing a few runes on herself, but the magic in the ink kept dispersing through the skin cells and fragmenting the runes’ desired effects. They finally managed to discover the correct timing with the ink and the magic, nearly simultaneous, to keep the two fused together under the skin, and Hermione was incredibly proud of the results.

“They’re beautiful,” Luna said with a pleased smile. She turned her wrist this way and that to admire the runes. “Quite the clever bit of magic, Hermione.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said with a beaming smile. “I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

Luna scoffed. “You’re the brightest witch of our age, Hermione. You can do anything.”

Hermione chuckled as she went about cleaning up the room. “I don’t know about anything,” she said, “but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Sitting on the edge of the chair and swinging her legs back and forth in the most childlike manner, Luna considered Hermione carefully. “Are you happy?”

The question caught her off guard and caused her to laugh uncomfortably. “Am I happy?”

“Yes,” Luna said with a curious tilt of her head. “Are you truly happy here, Hermione?”

“I suppose so.” Hermione frowned and realized she wasn’t entirely sure how to answer her. She thought for a moment about how she felt, about how she had been since she returned. So much had happened over the last few months that Hermione felt as if she had been back in the Wizarding World for years, but she was still so unsteady on her feet that she might as well have been here for days. Everything with Rita Skeeter had certainly put a damper on her return, but coming home to her friends, meeting Theo, opening her shop… 

“I’m happier than I was,” Hermione said finally, this time with more certainty.

Luna smiled and squeezed Hermione’s hand. “Trust the hummingbird, it’s wiser than it looks. And when an opportunity presents itself tomorrow, take it.”

Hermione blinked several times, unsettled by Luna’s prophetic way of speaking. She offered her an uneasy smile and said, “Okay, Luna, I will.”

“And tell Ronald I said hello,” Luna chirped as she bounced from the room. “But only if he doesn’t throw the lamp.”

“The lamp?” Hermione stepped quickly from the room, but Luna was already walking out the door with a cheery wave over her shoulder. “The lamp,” she muttered to herself. “That witch, I swear.”

She spent the rest of her day trying not to dwell on the things Luna had said, both complicated and odd. Thoughts of hummingbirds and blond wizards circled her head as she went through the motions to shut down the store and lock up for the night. She took a long bath when she got home, praying to the gods it would help her brain quiet down and allow her to go to bed at a reasonable hour.

Hermione hardly slept.

Nothing helped. She made chamomile tea, she drank a small amount of a sleeping draught, and went through every yoga pose she could think of. As the sun crept over the horizon, Hermione lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. Her mind spent the entire night endlessly cycling through the same train of thought.

Draco Malfoy had been her childhood bully. Draco Malfoy had suffered more than any child should. Draco Malfoy had changed. But he had been her nemesis. But he had been a child in an adult’s war. And he had changed so much. But they had hated each other. But they had both suffered. And they had both changed. But…

She groaned and pulled a pillow over her face.

Memories from school filtered in through her cycling thoughts, flashed of bushy hair, punched noses, and fights in the corridors. She winced at the cruelty they had shown each other. Those memories slowly faded into more recent ones, of seeing him for the first time since her return, of vulnerable conversations, and of drunken dancing at the Three Broomsticks.

They weren’t friends, she decided resolutely. She squeezed the pillow a little tighter and frowned into it. They were nowhere near friends, but they were no longer enemies either.

So what were they?


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning everyone! So turns out I won't be able to post an update next week, my boyfriend called dibs on the laptop (rude) and I won't have access to my drafts. To make it up to you, I'll be posting two chapters as soon as I get back! Hope everyone has a Merry Christmas!

The next morning, Hermione had to push against the wave of emotions and disjointed thoughts that rushed forward at the sight of Draco Malfoy walking into her shop. The last thing she needed was for him to be aware of the turmoil her conscience was currently suffering through.

“Good morning, Draco.” She winced internally at the hitch in her voice when she said his name.

Either he didn’t notice, or he knew better than to point it out. “Good morning,” he said with a barely-there smile.

She noticed he didn’t say her name, but she couldn’t say she was surprised. A small part of her was disappointed, but she pushed that even further back in her mind. 

“Let me finish a few things here, and I’ll meet you in my office.”

Draco nodded and made his way to the back of the shop. While waiting for Hermione to join him, he perused her shelves admiring her pictures and books. He raised an eyebrow at the vast collection of Magical Law and Patenting books before his gaze zeroed in on the collection of pictures on her desk. He had missed those during his first visit.

There were five in total, each frame a different size but organized in a way that they framed the edges of the desk. It was such a Hermione thing, he thought, to carefully arrange photos on a desk.

Draco noted the two pictures of landscapes first. One was of a snowy mountain top with small figures in the background, so small they could be mistaken for dots of ink. The other was of a beach with a lone figure standing in the water, body encased in shadows thrown from the setting sun. Muggle pictures, he realized based on the lack of movement within the wooden frames. The other three, however, were distinctly magical. One was of the most hideous cat Draco had ever seen. It’s orange, scrunched up face looked as if it had been hit one too many times with a door. The cat sat poised for the picture, and the only sign of movement was the swishing of its tail. The next picture was the picture of the Golden Trio that Draco had been expecting. Arms slung over each other’s shoulder, the three laughed at a joke told just before the picture had been taken. 

There was a small tug in Draco’s chest at the unadulterated joy written across their features. Blinking quickly he moved his gaze to the final picture and frowned. Two people he didn’t recognize walked hand-in-hand down a street, smiling at each other and seemingly oblivious of the camera.

“My parents.”

Draco jumped back a step, wide-eyed and startled by Hermione’s sudden voice from the doorway.

“It was our first visit to the Wizarding World,” she said as she made her way over to the desk. She smiled softly in the direction of the picture and said, “Feels like forever ago.”

Draco realized she was smiling the same smile he had seen when he had asked her about the muggle world: wistful and sad. Not feeling comfortable with pressing her further, Draco simply nodded and walked over to the couch he had sat on during his previous visit. He tossed his cloak over the back of the sofa and sank comfortably into the cushion with a quiet sigh.

Hermione sat on the couch opposite of him and asked, “How is your arm healing?”

He hesitated briefly, years of impulse telling him to hide his arm from her. Slowly rolling up his shirt sleeve, he held his arm out for her to examine. “I think it’s healing well. There’s no soreness or lingering pain.”

She gently took his wrist and turned his arm this way and that, carefully examining the ink and skin underneath. “It looks like the tattoo covered the mark well. No extra charm work necessary, thank Merlin, which means we can jump straight into the next design.” Lifting her sketchbook, Hermione tapped her lip with the end of her quill. “Any ideas?”

Draco cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, trying to keep his gaze from fixing on the tapping motion of the pencil. “I was hoping we could do something similar to the process you used last time?”

Hermione looked shocked at his suggestion and asked, “You want me to design your second tattoo?”

Unsure of himself, Draco looked down at his first tattoo and traced the snitch’s wings with the tip of his finger. “Is that not customary? I assumed that was how you normally designed them.”

“Not quite,” Hermione said. “It’s a huge compliment that you want me to design your tattoo again. Most people come in with a fairly set idea of what they want, and at most I get to tweak them.”

“You did an impressive job last time, and your reputation for other original designs is glowing.”

Hermione blushed faintly at the compliment and asked, “Which one did you see?”

“Theo showed me his the night he got it.” He frowned slightly and said, “I suppose I should have asked Luna to see hers. She had an appointment with you yesterday, didn’t she?”

“She did, we were working on a ring of runes around her left wrist.”

“Runes? Are they decorative or do they actually —”

“They do,” Hermione exclaimed, accidentally cutting him off in her excitement. “They actually work. She was the one to help me figure them out, but after a lot of research and testing we finally managed to figure out a way to incorporate their magical properties onto skin.” Hermione straightened her shoulders in a way that was all too familiar. “The most difficult part was keeping the magic contained in the skin for an extended period of time and not letting it bleed throughout the skin cells as that would imbalance and disrupt the runes.”

He wasn’t sure what skin cells were, but he didn’t want to seem foolish for asking. Instead he asked, “Are there any new projects you’re working on that are similar?”

“Well, Luna has this idea,” Hermione said with a roll of her eyes that showed just how much faith she had in said idea. “She wants to ink the moon phases down her spine and have them glow with the corresponding moon phase currently in the sky, but I honestly don’t know how we could get the ink to recognize it.”

Draco turned the idea over in his head for a few moments before tentatively suggesting, “Could you use magic similar to the Great Hall’s ceiling that, rather than telling the time, mirrors what is currently in the sky?”

Hermione’s eyes widened comically as the wheels in her head began spinning madly with the idea. Draco startled in his seat when she leapt up from the couch and dashed to her desk.

“That’s brilliant, Draco!” She riffled through her drawers for spare parchment and jotted down the idea before she forgot it. “I can’t believe I missed something so obvious. Absolutely brilliant.” She turned a brilliantly white smile in his direction that caused his stomach to do somersaults. She bounced back into her seat with a spring in her step and an enthusiasm that was contagious.

Settling back into her seat with her sketchbook in her lap, Hermione straightened her posture and was instantly all business, although the twinkle in her eye still lingered. “Now then, if we are going to use the same method as last time, I will need to ask you a few more personal questions if that’s alright with you.”

Draco nodded and tried to ignore that quiet but panicked voice in the back of his mind.

“What is your biggest fear?”

He swallowed thickly at the question as images of the War, Voldemort, and Death Eaters flashed through his mind.

Hermione noticed his eyes begin to glaze over and his fists clench at his side, so she quickly rephrased her question. “Better yet,” she amended, “tell me a fear you had as a child that is still present today.”

Relaxing minutely Draco thought back over his childhood. “It’s somewhat of a cliché,” he said hesitantly, “but I was always afraid of being alone. Not physically, but in life. I held my friends very close and rarely spent any time apart from them. I feared losing them or my mother; I feared walking through life alone and still do.”

She nodded in understanding and began sketching as he talked. The sound of her pencil scratching against parchment filled the room as she asked, “And your friends, can you tell me a little about them?”

Draco smiled as he continued his trek through his memories. “There were four of us that ran together as kids. Theo, Blaise, Pansy, and myself. It was just the three of us boys until Pansy came along, but she held her own.” He chuckled at memories of Pansy keeping the three of them in line. “We were little hellions growing up. Theo was the brains, Blaise the wild ambition, Pansy the smooth talker, and I was the ringleader. I couldn’t have asked for a better family.” Shaking his head fondly, Draco looked up and met Hermione’s warm gaze.

She was smiling as well, warmth exuding from her as she drank in the happy picture he painted. For the first time in a long time, she felt as though she had finally seen Draco with a few less walls up. He was a bit more human, and she was honored to see it. Sketching a few more details, she took a deep breath before turning the sketchbook around.

This design was simpler than the previous one. Building on his first tattoo, the sketch she made would run from his elbow to his shoulder, filling the skin with twining plants. There were large oak leaves shadowing small pink flowers and other plants he didn’t recognize. They flowed seamlessly into the flowers on his forearm and build one complete tattoo.

Before he could say anything, Hermione began her explanation. “I’ve incorporated three plants into the design. The oak leaves, which represent strength, are obvious and take up the majority of the skin. The smaller bundles are mignonette which represent worth, and are mixed with the little pink flowers. Those are laurel which in ancient Greece and Rome were symbols of ambition and victory.” She chewed on her lip for a second before saying, “I know pink flowers aren’t very manly, but I was trying to incorporate some of the characteristics of your friends. Plus,” she added with a soft chuckle, “what’s a Slytherin without the flower of ambition?”

Draco chuckled along with her. “That makes perfect sense to me. I love it.”

Hermione clapped her hands together and grinned. “Brilliant! Then let’s get started.”

In a rare moment of impulsive bravery, Draco stopped her. “Actually, I was hoping this time I could see one of your tattoos before I get mine instead of after.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, but a slow smile worked its way onto her lips. “Is that so?”

Whatever response he had was lost as she began lifting the hem of her shirt. She raised it to just above her ribs and glanced at the ink on her side. In small black script were names etched across her ribs. As Draco watched the ink flowed and changed, a new name on her side every few seconds. He recognized a few of them as he saw Fred change into Albus which then changed into Sirius. He tried to regain his breathing - when had he stopped breathing - as Hermione dropped her shirt back down.

“They’re the names of everyone I lost in the War. I’ve spelled the ink to change so everyone’s names could fit. There were too many for me to…” Her voice trailed off and grew tight as tears gathered in her eyes.

Not sure how to comfort her, Draco gently rested his hand on her knee. She placed her hand on top of his and gave him a watery smile. They sat that way for several moments before Hermione cleared her throat, swiped at her eyes, and stood.

“Let’s get started on your new tattoo. I’m eager to stab you with my wand again,” she said with a wink.

Draco was about to try and say something comforting but was interrupted by the sound of the front door of the shop distantly opening and slamming shut. Hermione frowned softly in confusion, but the look quickly turned into shock when the office door opened and Ron Weasley came barging in.

He didn’t give Hermione so much as a second to breath before the words came tumbling from his mouth in a loud rush. “I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in, Mione. Ginny told me where your store was and that you’d probably be in the office which was in the back. I wanted to come by sooner but didn’t realize you were in town until a little while ago, what with being caught up with playing for the Chudley Cannons and all. You understand. And I was waiting for you to reach out first anyway and ask how to season was going, but when you didn’t I —”

Ron paused in his monologue when he finally looked past Hermione and found Draco sitting across from her. His face began to turn red in a way that was far too familiar. His face twisted into an ugly grimace as he demanded, “What in the bloody hell is he doing here?”

Hermione had sat patiently during Ron’s verbal diarrhea, her posture straight and her hands folded carefully in her lap to hid her fidgeting fingers. “Ron,” she said calmly. “I appreciate you coming by, but I would have appreciated it more if you had owled me first. I do run a business here, after all, and Draco had an appointment scheduled.”

“Oh so it’s Draco now,” Ron interrupted her indignantly.

Draco, realizing that his presence was only going to make matters worse, rose to excuse himself. “I think it would be best if I left, Hermione.” He made a point to use her first name and was rewarded with a new shade of red on Weasley’s ears. “We can meet later today.”

Hermione nodded at him with an apologetic yet grateful smile.

Ron spluttered angrily but allowed Draco to pass him easily as he left the office.

Draco made it halfway down the hall before he heard muffled shouting coming from the office. He stood still and silently debated the moral ramifications of listening in before he quietly made his way back towards the office. Knowing the Weasley temper as well as he did, he leaned against the wall next to the office door and waited to see if Weasley took it too far.

“We all lost people, Hermione. That doesn’t mean you can abandon everyone for some vacation in the muggle world.” Ron’s voice rang clearly through the door and made it virtually impossible for Draco not to eavesdrop.

“I know everyone lost people, Ron, but I lost my entire family.” Hermione’s voice was clear but broke slightly at the end of her sentence. “Everywhere I looked there was death and heartbreak, and I felt so empty.” Draco frowned at how broken and vulnerable Hermione sounded. “I needed to escape it all. Everyone heals in different ways, and I couldn’t do that here surrounded by all of that.”

“Do you have any idea how selfish that sounds,” Ron yelled back. “You left us when we needed you most. When I needed you most!”

“I’m sorry, Ron, I really am. I know you needed me, that Harry needed me, but I can’t help my friends when the person you need is no longer there. I was a hollow version of myself. There was no way I could help anyone in the shape I was in, and it took me years to put myself back together. Do you understand that? Years. Sometimes you have to be selfish, Ronald, it’s the only way I could save myself.”

“But I love you, Hermione. I could have saved you just like before.”

Draco clenched his fists at his sides and had to focus carefully on his breathing to keep himself from going in the room.

“I thought we were going to be together after the Battle at Hogwarts, but I turned around one day and you were just gone.”

“Ron, we’ve talked about this,” Hermione said wearily. “I love you and Harry more than most, but you’re both family. I’m sorry, but you and I don’t have that kind of future together.”

“You’re just confused, Mione.” Ron tried to reason with her, but Draco thought he sounded far too condescending. “If you’ll just leave this silly art stuff and come back to the Burrow with me, everything can go back to the way it was.”

Draco’s eyes widened slightly. Weasley was a damn fool if he thought Hermione would take any of that well.

“This isn’t just silly art stuff, Ronald. This is my life. I find pride in what I do here, and if you can’t understand that —”

“I don’t understand it!”

Ron’s angry outburst caused Draco to swiftly stand from his position against the wall and grab hold of the door handle. He froze, fingers wrapped tightly around the metal, and waited with baited breath.

“I don’t understand any of it,” Ron bellowed. “You took a vacation without telling anyone, and then you suddenly come back and expect everything to be fine? You come back to cover people in these stupid drawings and befriend Slytherins of all people?”

“Damn it, Ronald. Can’t you move past those ridiculous prejudices already? Be an adult. How can you still hold such a grudge after everything we went through?”

“Because they’re horrible people, Hermione. I mean, Malfoy? He’s the worst of them all, and you had him sitting in your office like an old chum!”

Deciding he had heard enough and that Hermione had the situation under control, Draco slowly began to make his way back to the front entrance of the shop. Most of the yelling had died down, and he could barely hear their conversation. He had almost made it through the door when he heard a loud crash followed by Hermione’s muffled shouting. He rushed back to the office, took a steadying breath, and carefully opened the door.

Hermione was standing behind her desk with Weasley across the room at the fireplace. There was a broken lamp in pieces by the door which alerted Draco to what the crash had been. The pair looked at Draco as he entered the room, Hermione in honest curiosity and Weasley in abject fury.

Draco raised an unconcerned eyebrow at Weasley and said, “I forgot my cloak.” As he approached the couch where he had left his cloak, he caught sight of Hermione wiping quickly at her cheeks. Realizing she was wiping away tears, Draco’s stomach twisted as a surprisingly large bubble of anger burst in his chest. He willed himself to be calm when he asked, “Is everything alright in here?”

“We’re fine,” Ron spat. “Just get your cloak and leave, ferret.”

“I was asking her,” Draco said coldly, and his eyes never left Hermione.

Angry at being snubbed, Ron sneered at him. “Get out, Malfoy, no one wants you here.”

“That’s hardly the case,” Draco drawled as he finally fixed his steely gaze on Weasley. “In fact, I was invited here. Can you say the same for yourself?”

Ron snarled and stormed up to Draco until they were nose to nose. “You’re a fool if you think Hermione wants a death eater spawn like you here. Last I checked, no one wanted your family anywhere near England.” Ron’s mouth twisted into a nasty smile. “In fact, last I heard, your deadbeat father was shipped off to Azkaban and your bitch mother left you behind to flee for Paris. So really, you’re the last one we have to get rid of. Packed your bags yet?”

Draco kept his cool, and he really could have remained calm long enough to convince Weasley to leave until his mother was mentioned. At that point, his calm demeanor flew out the window consequences be damned. “It’s true, my mother did leave,” he hissed. “But at least I’m not a drunken layabout who can’t amount to anything because you’re too busy playing for a shoddy team and sulking over a girl you’ll never get. Face it, Weasley, how could a girl like her ever love a lazy nobody like you?”

He knew he had gone a step too far.

Ron’s eyes flashed with pure hatred and, before Draco could blink, Ron cocked back his arm and punched Draco square in the face.

Draco heard Hermione’s shriek of outrage before he stumbled back into her desk. He stood up to retaliate, the office swimming sickeningly around him, but was stopped when Hermione appeared at his side.

She grabbed hold of his face and forced his eyes to focus on her. “Oh Merlin, Draco, are you alright?” She used his chin to turn his face this way and that, her brown eyes darting all over his face looking for damage.

Ron starting yelling about her helping Draco which caused Hermione to level him with her chilling, angry gaze.

“Get out, Ronald.”

He started to argue, but her expression showed she wouldn’t budge on the issue, so he loudly huffed and stormed out.

Hermione looked back at Draco and flinched when she saw the bruise already forming on his right cheek. “Sit down on the couch,” she said softly. “I’ll get something for your cheek.”

Draco followed her order gladly and sank into the couch. His eyes watched as she bustled around the room, and his cheek gave a painful throb every time he blinked. Knowing his comments to Weasley would undoubtedly come back to bite him, he quickly apologized, “I’m sorry for what I said about Weasley. I went too far.”

Hermione sat down beside him with a soft cloth and tin of bruise relieving paste. “It was a cruel thing to say,” she said with a nod of agreement. She dabbed the cloth gently into the paste. “But Ron was in the wrong as well, and he definitely shouldn’t have hit you.”

Draco reached for the cloth, but she smacked his hand away.

She grabbed his chin again and pulled his face closer to her. Draco hissed as the cold cloth touched his cheekbone which caused Hermione to tsk quietly and press it more firmly against his face. “You just had to play the hero, didn’t you?”

Draco met her gaze and was relieved to find a small smile on her lips. “I’m sorry if I upset you by intervening,” he said with another wince. “I know you can handle yourself; you’ve proved that several times over.”

“Oh I’m not upset at you for that,” she assured him. “I’m just frustrated with Ronald. He never understood why I left, and he’s been angry with me ever since. I appreciated you coming to my rescue, even if I didn’t need it.” She quirked a smirk at him and said, “The cloak was a nice touch.”

Despite the pain in his cheek, Draco grinned at his own cleverness. “You caught that?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “It’s not like it was very subtle.” She blinked her eyes wide in mock surprise and reenacted dramatically, “Let me just fetch my cloak. What’s this, a damsel in distress? I must save her!” Hermione giggled to herself at her own joke which caused Draco to smile.

He was pleased to notice the throbbing in his cheek had lessened considerably since she had first added the paste.

An odd sort of tension settled over the room. Hermione’s gaze was fixed on his, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Those warm, brown eyes were so full of emotion that he could spend all day trying to discover their depths.

He thought back to the other night, to the party that had been one of the first enjoyable nights in a long time. To that cold night, and that sweet kiss, even if it was only on his cheek.

He reached up and gently covered her hand in his. “Have dinner with me,” he said softly.

She blinked. “Dinner?” Her voice was just as hushed as his, as though not wanting to break the moment they found themselves in.

“Yes, dinner. Tomorrow night.” He brushed his thumb over her fingers and was pleased to find a soft blush begin to dust her cheeks.

Hermione shyly tucked a bit of hair behind her ear. She smiled, nodded, and said, “Okay, tomorrow night.” She reluctantly pulled her hand away from his and busied herself with cleaning up the healing supplies. Her long hair fell about her face effectively hiding her wide smile and darkening blush.

Draco snagged his cloak off the back of the couch and tucked his hands into his pockets.

“Are you leaving?” Hermione tried not to sound disappointed, but he could still hear it in her voice.

“I think we’ve both had enough excitement for one day.” He draped his cloak across his shoulders and fastened it around his throat. “We can reschedule my appointment for another day when we’re both a little less stressed.”

Hermione’s smile fell slightly. “I’m sorry about Ron.”

He shook his head and said, “Don’t apologize. He just gave me an excuse to see you again.”

“Tomorrow night,” she said with a pleased smile.

“Tomorrow night,” he agreed. “Goodnight, Hermione.”

She watched him leave. A bubble of exhilaration began to climb up inside her and burst in her chest with a wave of warmth. A large grin spread over her cheeks and surprised laughter followed. He had called her Hermione.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would say happy Monday, but let's be honest, there's no such thing. I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas! Personally, I think it went by too quickly but 2021 is just around the corner, and I'm alright with that. This is the chapter I owed you all last week, and there will be another one on Thursday as well to get us back on schedule. Let me know what you think!

Hermione threw her hundredth outfit into the floor and sighed. Nothing was working.

She kept telling herself it was just dinner, it was just Draco, but her thumping heartbeat and frantic thoughts were not getting the message. Every outfit looked worse than the last. Too frumpy, too casual, too fancy. What was she even supposed to wear to a casual dinner with a friend?

Was that what they were?

Hermione buried her face in her hands with a groan. Now was hardly the time to try and figure out the messy territory between Draco and herself. She was comfortable no longer calling him an enemy, but any other labels were too heavy with implications she wasn’t ready to admit to. It was a friendly dinner, she decided finally. That was safe.

But she still didn’t have an outfit.

Calling Ginny was out of the question. The nosy witch would ask far too many questions for Hermione’s liking and would most likely try and learn the location of their friendly dinner. The absolute last thing she needed was Ginny Weasley stalking her not-a-date dinner with Draco. Luna wouldn’t be very helpful either. While she was excellent with advice, Luna’s taste in fashion was questionable at best, and there was nothing keeping Luna from immediately telling Ginny.

She was beginning to wonder if she should cancel the dinner entirely when she heard the formal voice of her floo echo through the flat.

“A Pansy Parkinson is requesting permission to connect to your floo system.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose so high they nearly touched her hairline. Why the hell was Pansy Parkinson of all people asking to connect to her floo?

She hesitated for barely a heartbeat before calling out, “Permission granted.”

The fireplace roared to life with green flames, and Pansy Parkinson stepped into the flat.

“Hermione, darling, are you home?” Pansy examined her surroundings while looking for Hermione. The flat looked exactly as she had expected.

A large chair sat beside the fireplace surrounded by stacks of books. The walls were lined with bookshelves that looked fit to burst, and made the modest flat seem even smaller than it was. Rather than Gryffindor reds and golds, soft shades of greens and blues created an inviting environment that was surprisingly reminiscent of the Hogwarts library.

Pansy was about to investigate the kitchen and ask a house elf for tea when Hermione entered the room.

“Pansy,” she said politely. She frowned in confusion and pulled her fluffy white robe tighter around herself. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I heard you had dinner plans and thought you could use my clothing expertise.” Pansy walked past Hermione and into the bedroom where she perched herself on the edge of the bed facing the closet. Gesturing towards Hermione who stood hesitantly in the doorway, Pansy said, “Show me your best options.”

Hermione only stood uncomfortably in the center of the room, weight shifting from foot to foot and eyes looking anywhere but at Pansy.

Huffing a sigh of frustration, Pansy stood from the bed and began digging through the pile of discarded clothing on Hermione’s floor. Finding nothing of interest, she moved on to the closet. Pansy rifled through the dresses, muttering comments about uptight bookworms and their lack of fashion sense under her breath, and finally threw her hands up in exasperation. “You have nothing,” she declared. “Stay put.”

Hermione stared dumbfounded as Pansy disappeared back into the living room and through the fireplace.

She must have looked like an idiot, standing in the doorway of her bedroom and staring open-mouthed at her empty fireplace, but the last ten minutes felt like a fever dream. Was Pansy Parkinson actually trying to help her get dressed for dinner with Draco Malfoy?

Before she could properly process what was happening, Pansy came striding back through the bursting green flames of the fireplace looking ever so much like a painting of a Valkyrie Hermione had once seen. She had a swath of grey fabric folded over her forearm and a pair of red heels dangling between her fingers.

“Get dressed,” she commanded and handed the outfit to Hermione. “I’m going to do your hair. It’s your first dinner together so no make up.”

Hermione nodded along and did as she was told, too afraid to disobey Pansy lest she leave her to sort out her outfit by herself. She quickly slipped into the grey dress and pulled on the heels. The dress itself was simple; it had a square neckline and fell just above her knees, but it clung to her curves enough to be both sophisticated and alluring. She released a small prayer of thanks to whichever gods were looking out for her that Pansy had known exactly what kind of dress Hermione needed.

Pansy stepped up with her wand and quickly cast a few spells that Hermione had never heard of as well as a de-frizzing spell she knew all too well. When Pansy finally guided her before the mirror, Hermione’s jaw dropped open in awe.

“Wow,” she whispered to herself. “How did you…”

“She was already there, I just helped you pull her out,” Pansy said with a smug smile. “Now go enjoy your dinner.”

Hermione nodded, and watched the pretty witch in the mirror do the same. Her hair fell in silky curls about her shoulder, beautifully framing her face and not at all the lion’s mane she was so used to taming. The tall heels emphasized her already perfect posture, and gave her an air of confidence that was similar to the way Pansy held herself just behind her.

“Thank you,” Hermione said.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Pansy retorted as she walked back to the fireplace once more. Grabbing a handful of floo powder, she gave Hermione a wink and said, “Good luck.”

Hermione waited only a few moments before grabbing her purse from the top of her dresser and following Pansy into the fireplace.

She stepped through the restaurant fireplace and immediately paused. She only had a moment to steady her breathing before a hostess was leading her to an open table and her waiting began. She was early, but Hermione was always early. Hermione thanked the hostess as she took her seat and immediately began over-thinking every possible way she could position herself in her chair. Scoffing at her own absurdity, Hermione ordered a glass of water from the waitress and tried not to stare too obviously at the fireplace as she waited.

The next half hour crawled by at a snail’s pace. She ordered a glass of wine from the waitress to try and calm her nerves, but it only ended up causing her rising frustration to heat up that much faster. Her lower lip throbbed faintly from the stress of her constant, anxious chewing. She had smoothed the skirt of her dress and adjusted her hair more times than she could count, and the pitying glances she was receiving were beginning to wear on her limited patience.

Hermione tapped her finger against the table and glanced at the restaurant door for what felt like the millionth time. She sighed in disappointment and checked her watch again. Draco didn't strike her as the type to be late, but it was already nearly thirty minutes passed the time he agreed to meet her.

Her face flushed with embarrassment as the waitress came by and gave her yet another sympathetic look. "Still waiting,” she asked in a kind voice.

"Not for much longer," Hermione replied with a frustrated frown.

The waitress caught on to her annoyed tone of voice and nodded in understanding. "If he doesn't show, he wasn't worth worrying about. Your drink is on the house, love, so when you decide you've had enough you don't have to worry about it."

Hermione smiled in thanks but felt the small bubble of hope in her chest begin to deflate. This dinner had been his idea so he had to come, right? She huffed in frustration and downed the rest of her wine. Her irritation slowly burned into anger as the minutes passed slowly before she finally gathered her things to leave. So much for people changing.

Setting a few Sickles on the table as a tip for the kind waitress, Hermione grabbed her purse and quickly left the restaurant, this time through the front door. The thought of going home was less than pleasant. Chewing on her lower lip, she ran through her options. She needed to go out, to go somewhere she could relax. Without missing a step, Hermione flicked her wand to her right and the silvery form of her patronus burst forth. The otter darted in and out of invisible waves as it tried to keep up with her brisk pace.

“To Ginny Weasley: I need to get drunk. Meet me at Luna’s house for a girl’s night in a half hour.”

The otter dashed off to deliver her message, and Hermione apparated with a sharp ‘crack’.

She threw off her clothes as she crossed her flat towards her bedroom until she was standing before her closet in nothing but her underwear and borrowed heels. Pulling pins out of her hair and roughly shaking out the curls, she stared into the chaos of her closet and glared. 

This whole ordeal was just insulting. Clearly she had a higher opinion of Draco Malfoy than he deserved, and if that were the case, she wanted nothing to do with him. Luna had been wrong about him, of that she was certain. He had stood her up which bruised her ego, but it wasn’t the end of the world. The best remedy for a bad date was a better night.

Hermione grabbed a black dress from the very back of her closet, one Pansy had thankfully missed, changed clothes and apparated to Luna’s house. When she arrived, she found Luna trying to pile her hair onto her head using her wand as a hair stick and Ginny digging violently through a pile of discarded shoes.

“You cannot call a girl’s night last minute and expect me to look like my usual flawless self,” Ginny exclaimed. She pointed the sharp heel of a shoe at Hermione and glared. “You ordered a night to forget, and that takes planning.”

“You mean a night we won’t forget,” Hermione corrected calmly. Ginny had pointed far more dangerous things at her; a shoe was hardly threatening.

“No I don’t.” Ginny’s voice was muffled while she searched for a specific pair of shoes in the closet. “You need to forget the last few hours as well as the rest of the night. I plan on having you wake up with a man whose name you won’t remember, in a bed you’ll never see again, and the name ‘Draco Malfoy’ permanently forgotten.”

Luna nodded along seriously, her hair precariously balanced on the top of her head in an impressive top knot. “A night to forget, indeed.”

Hermione shrugged, knowing it was best not to question their combined logic, and plucked a pair of emerald heels from a discarded pile. “Try these,” she said and tossed the shoes to Ginny.

With flawless reflexes, Ginny caught the shoes and slipped them onto her feet. The shoes matched her skintight dress; it went beautifully with her bright red hair and offset Luna’s pale yellow dress perfectly. Hermione couldn’t resist the appreciative grin she gave them. Her friends looked brilliant.

“Bloody hell, Hermione.” Ginny finally got a good look at Hermione’s dress and whistled. “Where have you been hiding that?”

Hermione spun in a quick circle to show off her little black dress. It was by far the sexiest dress she had ever owned. A friend of hers had bought it for her during her stay in the muggle world, and she had only had the chance to wear it once. The dress was made for one night stands and drunken regrets.

“You both look brilliant.” Hermione linked her arms with both of them and grinned wickedly. “Let’s go forget.”

They passed the night in a blur of thumping bass, blurry faces, and far too many drinks. The women bounced from one bar to the next, both in magical and muggle London, until they were too drunk to stand let alone apparate anywhere. Hermione yelled something vaguely about visiting the loo, and although Ginny nodded she wasn’t entirely sure she heard her over the music. Either way, Hermione pushed her way through the crowd and into the thankfully empty bathroom.

She braced her hands against the sink and closed her eyes. The world spun around her at a nauseating speed and the smell of the bathroom sat heavily in her throat. If she breathed too deeply, she might puke. Breathing in a careful, steadying breath, Hermione looked up into the mirror.

The woman that stared back looked lost. Watery, unfocused eyes gazed back at her from under dance-ruffled curls. Her cheeks were flushed red in rather unattractive blotches, and the lazy smile on her lips looked more queasy than happy.

“Pathetic,” her reflection seemed to say. “One bad date, and you drown yourself in bars and forgettable men. Such a strong, independent woman.”

Her smile slipped into a sneer, and hot tears pricked behind her eyes. Waves of self-loathing crashed through her, and the lump in her throat grew so thick she could hardly breathe. She was no war heroine, she thought with a bitter laugh, she was an orphan masquerading as a witch. All it took was one lousy dinner for her fragile self-confidence to all but shatter.

“Pathetic,” she whispered to her reflection. She roughly pushed her hair out of her face and sighed. Hermione was nearly ready to leave the bathroom and further drown her sorrows when a glittering flash of blue caught her eye in the reflection of the mirror. She squinted and asked, “Widget?”

Sure enough, a little hummingbird darted up beside her face and chirruped quietly in her ear. She had never seen a bird look sad before, but Widget was gazing at her with the most doleful little eyes.

“What is it, love,” she asked the little bird quietly. “Why are you here?”

Widget didn’t answer, he merely tucked himself up under her jaw and ruffled his feathers against her skin.

“You were wrong, Widget.” She smiled sadly into the mirror and watched the hummingbird tuck itself even further against her neck. “Focusing on my love life was a truly terrible idea.” Hermione was startled by the sound of the bathroom door being loudly thrown open, and quickly pulled her hair around her shoulders to hide Widget from view.

It hardly mattered, as the woman who came staggering in was clearly too drunk to see much of anything, least of all a tiny bird on someone’s shoulder. Her makeup was smeared under her eyes with dark tear stains running down her cheeks. Her bright red lipstick was smeared across one corner of her mouth, and her dress was so rumpled Hermione could barely tell what it would have originally looked like.

“Christ, these lights,” the woman muttered and threw up a hand to shield her eyes. She finally noticed Hermione and smiled crookedly. It was the sort of smile that was less friendly and more apologetic, as though she were apologizing for being there. “Bad night,” she asked.

Hermione found herself shrugging helplessly and said, “You could say that.”

“Men,” the woman scoffed. She fumbled through her purse, triumphantly pulled out a hair tie, and began the laborious task of piling her messy blonde hair into some semblance of a bun. “You can treat ‘em as well as you like, but the second a buxom bitch with pink hair strolls up…” She growled under her breath and splashed some cool water on her face from the sink next to Hermione’s.

“I tell him I love him, tell him he’s the only one for me. But does that matter?” The woman scoffed and aggressively scrubbed at her cheeks with wet hands. “Of course it doesn’t. ‘Don’t worry, Ella. She means nothing, Ella.’ As if someone else’s knickers in our flat means nothing.”

Ella, at least Hermione assumed that was her name, looked back up at Hermione with a fierce expression. “Men are absolutely exhausting.”

“They are,” Hermione said at last. “They’re idiots, the lot of them.”

“Yes they are,” Ella agreed with a thump of her fist against the sink. “Just as you think you’ve found a good one, they go and do something so foolish you consider swearing off of them entirely.”

Hermione grumbled, “If only it were so easy.” She swept her hair back off her shoulders and realized Widget had left without her noticing.

“Are you here drinking to forget a man or hiding in the bathroom from one?”

“The first,” Hermione said with a frown. “We were supposed to have dinner tonight for the first time, but he never showed.”

“Is that all?”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

Ella rolled her eyes. “So he missed dinner, big deal. He probably got caught up with work or simply forgot.”

“So I should give him a free pass,” Hermione asked hotly. “Because he probably just forgot.”

“Not because of that,” Ella said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Because he probably doesn’t even know how torn up you are about it.”

That brought Hermione up short. She was probably right, Draco most likely had no idea Hermione was this disappointed by him missing dinner. For all she knew, there could be an owl waiting at her house with a perfectly good explanation, and she was too busy crying in a bathroom to find out.

Ella had a smug grin on her face and nodded at Hermione’s dumbfounded expression. “I bet it wasn’t even really a date, was it? It was probably a friendly dinner between almost friends, and your disappointment has blown it completely out of proportion.”

Hermione nodded dumbly, her eyes still wide with shock.

“Then go home and get sober,” Ella said. “Give him a call in the morning, call him an ass, and tell him he owes you dinner _and_ desert.” She scrubbed at the makeup under her eyes until it was nearly gone and reapplied her lipstick. When she was satisfied she added, “At least you can teach him some manners now. I have to go flirt with the bartender until my man realizes his mistake.” Ella winked slyly at Hermione and strode out of the bathroom, all signs of intoxication gone.

“Merlin,” Hermione mumbled to herself as she gazed at the bathroom door. “What the bloody hell was that.”

Hermione barely had a moment to collect herself before Ginny and Luna came bursting into the bathroom. That poor door was taking a beating, she thought absently.

“I told you she would be here,” Luna said. “Hermione wouldn’t leave without telling us.”

Ginny looked disappointed rather than relieved. “I had hoped you’d found a bloke and gone home with him,” she said. Her voice sounded whiny and somewhat slurred.

“Rather the opposite,” Hermione said with a tired shake of her head. “I think we should call it a night.”

Luna immediately began nodding, but whatever she tried to say was drowned out by Ginny’s loud moans of disappointment.

“Ginny,” she said loudly. “My feet are absolutely killing me, and I’m fairly certain we’ve been to every bar in town already.”

Ginny opened her mouth to further complain, but Luna lifted up on her tiptoes and whispered in her ear. Whatever it was put a large grin on Ginny’s face and had her immediately ushering the both of them out of the bathroom. Hermione laughed along with Luna who was looking quite smug, and began digging through her purse for their portkey as the walked through the crowded club. They made out the door without much hassle but had to sidestep a woman with vibrant pink hair that came dashing past them, sobbing loudly into her hands.

They watched her run down the sidewalk with varying degrees of interest and concern as they made their way to the all next to the club, hopefully out of sight enough so the muggles couldn’t see them use a portkey.

“Bad night,” Ginny mused with a laugh which earned her a swift elbow to the ribs from Luna.

“Found it,” Hermione called. She held out a pale blue tea cup for all of them to grab onto. After Ginny made a cheeky comment about how a hangover potion or a shot glass would have been more suitable to their situation, Hermione muttered the password and the portkey swept them away.

They collapsed in a heap of laughter in the middle of Luna’s home. Hermione shoved playfully at Ginny whose legs were now draped across her stomach and tried to lift her own legs off of Luna’s back.

“Would you like to stay the night, Hermione?” Luna pulled her wand from her hair and used it to light the lights around the room. She propped herself up on her elbows and said, “It’ll be just like old times.”

“Luna, you didn’t even live in the Gryffindor tower,” Ginny pointed.

Luna tilted her head to the side and frowned slightly. “Well then, it will be just like old times should have been.”

“How can I say no to that,” Hermione said with a laugh. She could worry about Draco in the morning.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years Eve!! Hopefully 2021 treats you all the way you deserve. This chapter is almost late because it was kinda hard to write, Draco's perspective was just not coming easily to me today. Poor Draco, I really can't let him have a win, can I?
> 
> And to everyone who commented about Ella and Widget, thank you! Ella won't be appearing again, she was just a wise drunk girl who offered weirdly accurate advice. Widget, however, will keep appearing even though I'm not entirely sure how important he/she will be... Anyway, happy Thursday, happy New Years, and happy 2021! May the new year be filled with wonderful surprises and success.

The trek up to the front gate felt miles long. Draco pulled his cloak tighter around himself to try and fight off the icy wind, but it seemed to cut straight through to his bones. His nose burned from the salty sea air, and he told himself it was the chill and not fear that caused his body to tremble. Azkaban had always been a formidable sight, but knowing what lay in wait for him behind it’s unforgiving stone walls made it even more sinister.

He inhaled a deep breath to try and clear his mind, his occlumency shields falling into place with an iron will and calming the whirlwind of panicked thoughts circling his mind. Give him twenty minutes, he thought, and you can be enjoying dinner with Hermione in a Merlin-blessed warm restaurant. Just twenty minutes.

As the auror at the front gate scanned his wand and verified his identity, Draco felt a twinge of sympathy. No one could pay him enough to stand in the cold for hours on end. He nodded his appreciation and entered the prison. Draco huffed in frustration and buried his hands deeper into his cloak pockets. He had forgotten that the inside of the fortress was just as cold and heartless as the island it was built on. Regretting his decision to forgo wearing a scarf and cursing the man who summoned him to such a Salazar-forsaken place, Draco walked the familiar path through the depths of the winding hallways. Although dementors were no longer used as prison guards, the prison itself was still functioning and used to house the prisoners that remained from the war with Voldemort.

Buried in the depths of the prison were the worst Death Eaters and prisoners of war, and his appointment brought him to the hall containing cells of Voldemort’s most loyal followers. Draco stopped before the last door on the right and steeled himself for what lay beyond the sealed door.

There was a scuffle of movement in the darkness before him, and he caught a glimpse of tattered stripes moving through the singular stream of sunlight illuminating the cell. His face remained carefully impassive as he took in the withered appearance of the once great man held within.

“Hello, Father.”

The once aristocratic face of Lucius Malfoy twisted into a cruel, hollow smile. “Draco, my son.” His voice was hoarse from what Draco assumed was years of screaming his indignation at the Azkaban guards.

Disgust settled deep in Draco’s stomach as he gazed at his father’s haggard appearance. Thin and frail, Lucius was a far cry from the highborn pureblood he had once been.

Lucius leaned against the barred window of his cell and gave Draco a critical once over. “Don’t you look… muggle,” he rasped with a sneer.

Draco did in fact look quite muggle. He had worn blue jeans and a casual shirt from some random muggle shop beneath his robes specifically to anger his father, and he was satisfied to know it was working. “Yes, I’ve decided to try and repair our family name.” He clenched his fists tightly in his pockets and forced himself to meet Lucius’ gaze. “I have approached new forms of business in the muggle world,” he said. His lips twisted into an irritated grimace and he added, “After all, no wizard will do business with Malfoy Co. anymore.”

His father sneered, his prominent cheekbones and sunken face making the expression look ghastly. “How quaint,” he said. “Doing business with muggles and saving the family name. You have grown into quite the philanthropist.”

“Why did you call me here, Lucius?”

Lucius grinned at Draco’s frustrated tone of voice and said, “I have called you here as my heir to ask a favor of my dearest son.”

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “After everything you’ve done, what gives you the right to ask me for anything?”

Lucius’s laugh was derisive and rasped painfully from his throat. “After everything you have been through,” he murmured, “how dare I? After raising you in a life of luxury and giving you everything your silly little heart could desire, how dare I?”

His palms ached, and Draco was sure his nails would pierce the skin if he clenched his fists any tighter. He tried to reign in the rage burning in his chest. He refused to give his father the satisfaction of knowing he could still anger him. “Get to the point,” he said through gritted teeth, “or I will leave.”

“I humbly ask you, my dearest son,” Lucius said with the still mocking sneer, “to assist me in a mutually beneficial endeavor. You see, I too wish to revive our tarnished family name and restore it to its original position of honor amongst the Old Families.”

Draco slowly and pointedly looked around Lucius’ cell, then to the locked door, then to his father’s decrepit form. “And how exactly do you propose we do that?”

Lucius grinned viciously through the bars of his cell, and the cruelty in his eyes sent chills down Draco’s spine. “We rally the troops, of course.”

“The troops,” Draco echoed quietly. “The troops which are, in case you failed to notice, imprisoned in the cells around you.” He could feel the rage building inside him as he spoke; his hands began to shake with the force of it. “The troops with have failed in, not one, but two wars that nearly brought our entire world to its knees.” He met Lucius’ cold gaze with vicious hatred in his eyes and asked, “Those troops?”

Rather than looking angry as Draco had expected, Lucius merely clicked his tongue and shook his head as though disappointed. As though Draco had missed something obvious. “No, Draco, not them.” He waved his hand dismissively and muttered, “Those fools are quite useless now.”

Draco clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to say, ‘And you aren’t?’

“The troops we need have been in contact,” Lucius said cryptically. “Due to my unfortunate circumstances, I will need you to meet with them on my behalf.”

“How the bloody hell have you been contacting them,” Draco demanded. “You’re in a high security prison.”

“Language,” Lucius admonished, “and I have my ways. You of all people should know that.”

Draco shoved aside the twisted panic that rose in his chest at the reminder of the sort of things Lucius Malfoy was capable of. Now was not the time to dwell on the past. Instead he asked, “Who are they?”

Lucius smiled slyly. “All in good time, my son.”

Draco fought against the bile in his throat. He wanted to yell, to throw curses, and to tell this man that he had long ago lost the right to call him son. But the words were stuck in his chest alongside his cowardice and dashed hopes.

“For now,” Lucius said, oblivious to Draco’s inner turmoil. “For now, you shall wait. Continue to build our assets and return our family name to its former glory by whatever means necessary. When the time is right, I will call for you again. You will stand by my side as before and assist us in ushering in the era of the Old Families once more. Voldemort was too abrasive, lacking in the cunning ways of Salazar that can be so vital in a societal upheaval. We will not make the same mistakes again.”

Draco fled Azkaban.

He scarcely remembered the journey between his father’s cell and his flat, but when he finally landed, he vomited. He stared blankly at the mess in his floor and wiped absentmindedly at his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. The words of his father played through his mind in an endless, jumbled loop. The promises, the insinuations, the horrible unspoken promise.

A scream of anger ripped itself from his lungs so violently that he fell to his knees, the sound of his rage reverberating off the silencing wards on his walls. Waves of emotions crested through him too quickly for him to control or suppress. Anger. Disappointment. Overwhelming fear.

He curled in on himself, the cool temperature of the floor against his face doing little to calm him. His breathing was ragged, shredding his throat in wheezing pants that caused his heartbeat to thunder in his ears.

Everything he had run from. Everything he had left behind. Everything he had suffered and buried in his past.

His father wanted to…

He vomited again.

Through the chaos of his thoughts and the roaring in his ears, Draco was deaf to the sound of his fireplace igniting. He felt arms wrap around his shoulders - he hadn’t realized he was shaking - and heard the soft sound of Pansy shushing him. She rocked him gently back and forth, murmuring words of comfort he could barely hear and stroking his hair. He squeezed his eyes shut to try and keep the emotions locked inside.

His fireplace lit again and spat out Blaise and Theo.

Pansy must have called them.

How long had he been in the floor?

He vaguely felt them help him to his feet and over to the couch, the feeling of their hands on his arms and shoulders so distant. He was falling into himself. Into that dark pit inside that threatened to swallow him whole. He almost wanted to let it.

Draco fell gratefully into the cushions of his sofa and listened to the muffled voices of his friends as they discussed where he had been and how to help him. He vaguely considered telling them to clean the vomit from his floor, but it took all of his strength to stay awake. He felt a heavy weight settle over him - possibly a blanket - then his strength ebbed to its last dredges, and he allowed sleep to claim him, his dinner plans with Hermione entirely forgotten.

It took several days for Draco to return to some semblance of his normal self.

Blaise, Theo, and Pansy were crucial in helping to anchor him to reality and provide stability during his emotional upheaval. They had all helped each other through so many tragedies during their school years that they had developed a routine of sorts. Pansy provided the cooking; it had been her escape growing up to help the house elves in the kitchen whenever her parents were fighting. They were always fighting.

Blaise provided the escape, knowing his mother’s forgotten Italian villa would give Draco a much needed breath of fresh air, peace, and quiet. No traumatic memories were attached to the place for any of them. It was one of the few places left that they could find solitude and escape.

Theo kept Draco company and ensured he didn’t spiral into another panic attack. He was able to distract him whenever the shadows loomed and thoughts of Lucius began to creep back in. He was a pillar of quiet support and had a knack for knowing just what kind of distractions Draco needed most.

Draco was comforted by the presence of his makeshift family and found the weight of his father’s words lessening each day, but the small reprieve came to a screeching halt when he remembered the dinner date he had missed.

“She will flay me alive.”

Pansy rolled her eyes, not bothering to look up from the copy of Witch Weekly she was flipping through. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

Draco scrubbed his face and grumbled, “Dramatic? I asked her to dinner and then stood her up. She hasn’t heard from me in days.”

“It’s not like you did it on purpose, mate.” Blaise watched Draco pace with an amused smirk and said, “If you keep this up, you’ll wear a hole in my rug. It was quite expensive, so if you don’t mind --”

“Really, Zabini? You’re worried about the rug?” Theo scoffed as he poured himself a glass of one of Blaise’s many bottles of expensive wine.

Blaise tossed him a glare and said, “You would as well if you had bought the damn thing.”

“I will buy you ten of these rugs if you can focus on the issue at hand,” Draco said with a scathing look in Blaise’s direction, but he had been on the receiving end of Draco’s ire far too many times for it to have any effect. 

“What do you want us to say,” Pansy asked as she tossed aside her magazine. “You royally botched a date which I’m sure isn’t a first for you. Just apologize.”

Draco ignored the slight and said, “It wasn’t a date.” His gaze snapped up from the floor when he heard all three of his friends begin laughing uproariously.

“Not a date,” Blaise wheezed as he wiped at nonexistent tears. “That’s a laugh.”

“It wasn’t,” Draco insisted. It only caused his friends to laugh harder.

“Spare us,” Pansy said when had finally composed herself, though an amused grin still lingered on her lips. “We all know this was supposed to be a date. You were just too afraid to call it what it is.”

Theo patted Draco on the shoulder as he passed him and joined Pansy on the couch. “It’s alright to admit it, Draco. You have the hots for Hermione Granger.”

Despite his best efforts, Draco’s cheeks flushed slightly. “How mature,” he sneered. “The hots for Granger. What are we, twelve?”

Blaise rolled his eyes and drained the rest of his wine glass. “This is dramatic, even for you. And coming from me, that says something. Quit pussy-footing around, apologize to the witch, and shag her. If she’s not out of your system after that, then you fancy the bird.”

Pansy scoffed in disgust and threw her magazine at Blaise. “You are the most useless man,” she said. “No wonder you can’t keep a witch.”

“I could keep one if I wanted to,” Blaise argued indignantly.

“Seems like rather flawless logic to me,” Theo said.

Pansy’s objections and Blaise’s shouts overlapped into indecipherable nonsense that did nothing more than frustrate Draco even further. He loved his friends, but sometimes he considered the moral implications of strangling the three of them.

Just as he was considering the best location to hide the bodies, Theo slapped Blaise over the back of the head and effectively silenced the argument.

“Apologize,” Pansy said firmly. She walked over to the fireplace, careful to step around the empty wine bottle on Blaise’s precious rug, and frowned at each of the men. “Do nothing foolish. No flowers, no monologues, and no lies. I saw how excited she was for this dinner, and that should give you enough confidence in the fact that she will most likely forgive you.” She grabbed a fistful of floo powder and muttered, “That dress was perfect, too.”

“I should probably floo home as well.” Theo rose from his chair and passed Blaise’s his empty wine glass. “Sooner rather than later,” he said with a pointed look at Draco. “I agree with Pansy, but your opportunity to ask for forgiveness is not without a time limit.”

After Theo left, Blaise and Draco sat in amiable silence. Draco knew his friends were right, aside from Blaise of course. He needed to find Hermione and apologize before his opportunity passed him by, but the shadow of his visit with his father still lingered over him like distant storm clouds.

He needed to address his father’s insanity before he could progress any further with his friendship with Hermione.

The quiet voice in the back of his mind reared its head at the word ‘friendship’ and hummed. Was that what this was? They had reintroduced themselves and agreed on a fresh start, but was friendship what he wanted? And what did Hermione call this?

Shoving the questions back into the recesses of his mind, Draco shook his head and sighed. There were too many things to worry about and not enough time in the day to worry about them. One problem at a time, he told himself. He knew what needed to be done, but Draco was beginning to feel that today would be one uncomfortable conversation after another. After making plans to meet up with Blaise later that night for drinks, Draco left through the floo.

He had considered every angle of how to deal with Lucius' plan for another reckless attempt at world domination, but the conclusion he had come to was not the one he wanted. With no small amount of annoyance Draco knocked on the office door labeled "Auror Potter". Despite having come to a peaceful armistice with his old school enemy, Draco's ego was outraged at having to ask the man for help. He attempted to swallow his displeasure as the door swung open.

Harry Potter's infamous green eyes took in the disgruntled man outside his door with an air of curiosity. "Malfoy," he greeted with a raised eyebrow. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Draco released a small breath when Harry didn't immediately close the door in his face. "Evening, Potter. I'm in need of assistance in a very delicate matter."

Harry hummed as he took a step back from the doorway and gestured for Draco to enter his office. "A delicate matter?"

Giving the contents of the office a cursory glance Draco took a seat across from Harry's desk. He noted the lack of pictures and memorabilia with a sliver of surprise and filed the information away for future analysis. "Yes,” he said hesitantly. “It would seem Lucius has decided to revisit his old hobbies." The corner of Draco's mouth quirked up when he caught Harry rolling his eyes.

"I swear, the amount of persistence is almost admirable." Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed, but when he saw Draco's raised eyebrow he emphasized, "Almost. It's borderline sad, really. What convoluted plan has he concocted now?"

"That's the issue I came to discuss." Draco shifted in his seat and chose his words carefully. "Lucius claims to have a contact outside of Azkaban that is capable of rallying troops. He has decided that his dearest son shall redeem the family name and spearhead the third, and clearly successful, attempt at asserting the dominance of the Old Families over the wizarding world."

Harry almost laughed at the dramatic flair Draco gave Lucius' words. Almost. The threat of Death Eaters rising again and reattempting to overthrow the British Wizarding Government was all too real and had been the source of a three year long headache. Most of the stragglers from the Final Battle had been rounded up and sent to Azkaban within months of the death of Voldemort, but the few that remained were to be tracked down by Harry and his team. Adding an already imprisoned Death Eater to the list seemed… unnecessary.

"I understand being concerned about your father considering he was one of Voldemort's Inner Circle members, but there's not much he can do from inside a prison cell." Harry jotted down a few notes on a roll of parchment on his desk and added, “There is no possible way for him to contact anyone outside of the prison without alerting the guards and aurors.”

Draco knew this would be the response he would receive from any other auror which was why he had gone straight to Harry. Sure enough, after a lengthy pause full of note taking and mumbling, Harry resolutely met his gaze.

"I'll look into it. I can't promise I'll find anything," he warned, "but I can promise to keep an eye on things in case anything develops."

"That's all I ask." Draco stood and shook Harry's hand but paused before he left the office. This was a gamble, but if anyone would be able to give him sound advice, it just might be Harry. “Another question, if you have a moment.” He hesitated but still asked, “Hypothetically speaking, if… if you accidentally stood a woman up for dinner because of a… delicate, personal matter, would you explain to her why you weren’t able to attend? Or would you merely apologize and leave it at that?”

Harry stared at him for several tense minutes with unreadable eyes, long enough that Draco began to consider leaving the office without his answer. Finally, Harry said, “I would suggest doing both.” He spoke slowly, and a slight frown marred his brow. “If you don’t explain yourself, she’ll think you blew her off. If she hasn’t punched you yet, then apologize. Profusely. Grovel, but don’t over-explain or it comes across as insincere.” He adjusted his glasses and leveled Draco with a calculating, warning look and added, “And never lie. She hates it when you lie.”

Before Draco could respond, Harry had shut the office door and left him alone in the hallway with his thoughts. Draco began to walk towards the atrium, mulling over Harry’s advice and considering the implication behind the words. He was just as confused when he arrived at the floo network. “Surely he doesn’t,” Draco muttered to himself before shaking his head firmly. There was no way the Witless Wonder knew who he had been talking about.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! This chapter is a little shorter than usual because of where I had to cut it off, but hopefully the contents of it will make up for it. Have a bit of Dramione tension, darlings, and try to forget about our crazy world for a bit. Sending love and good vibes to you all, and I'll see you Thursday!

Friday morning dawned with dreary skies and ominous clouds. The threat of rain hung heavily in the sky and cast the world in gloomy shades of gray.

Draco thought the impending storm was fitting.

He stood across the street from the building that housed Hermione’s flat, hands stuffed deep in his pant pockets and a frown marring his features. He tried to look inconspicuous, but the street was empty due to the shoddy weather, and he was painfully aware of the neighbors peeking at the strange, brooding man through their curtains. He needed to knock on Hermione’s door before someone called the muggle aurors.

It had been quite lucky that he had remembered enough details of her street from the night she had brought them here. Another excellent reason to have been sober after the party at the Three Broomsticks. He told himself it wasn’t creepy, and that being aware of your surroundings was a skill anyone should possess.

He still needed to knock.

Heaving a sigh and shoving his hands even further into his pockets, Draco trudged across the street and up the small steps to Hermione’s front door. He knocked before he could talk himself out of it, and immediately began tapping his foot impatiently. The door opened far enough for him to glimpse a very confused Hermione.

“Draco?” She rubbed the back of her hand over one of her eyes, and he was suddenly aware of how early in the morning it was.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” he said quickly. “I can come back later.”

She waved a hand at him and said, “No, no, it’s alright. Would you like to come in?”

He nodded appreciatively, more than happy to get out of the rain that was beginning to fall, and stepped passed her into the room. He glanced around the space, surprised by how small the flat was. It was stuffed to the brim with books, which he had expected, and it made the room they were in feel even smaller than it was. The warm colors and personal touches made the place feel homey and somewhat less cramped, but Draco still felt as though he was intruding and lingered anxiously by the front door.

“How did you know which door was mine?”

Draco glanced at her and immediately lost his train of thought.

She was dressed in what he assumed were her sleep clothes. She worse gray sweats that looked to be at least two sizes too big and puddled around her bare feet. Her shirt was so faded he could hardly make out any letters that remained. The bottom of the shirt had been cut off rather carelessly, and the frayed edges revealed a small amount of skin. It captivated his attention.

“Draco?”

His gaze snapped back to hers, and he found laughter dancing in her brown eyes. He smiled sheepishly at her and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, didn’t sleep well last night.”

Her smile told him she knew exactly why he had been staring, but she said nothing.

“I remembered from the party,” he said. He hoped it didn’t sound strange to remember a detail like that.

Thankfully she nodded along as though this made perfect sense. She shuffled to the kitchenette and asked, “I was just about to make some tea, would you like some?”

“Yes, please.”

Draco took a seat at the kitchen table and watched her quietly work. This wasn’t going at all the way he had anticipated. He had expected shouting, perhaps a few things thrown at him, a lecture at the very least. While Hermione Granger may not have had the most notorious temper during their years at school, she had certainly been a force to be reckoned with, and her silence was unnerving him.

He stood from his chair, draped his cloak over the back of it, and moved to stand a few steps away from Hermione. She neither said anything nor looked at him, and he was convinced this was worse than any tongue lashing she could have given him.

“Hermione?”

She hummed to show she had heard him but didn’t turn away from the tea kettle on the stove.

“Hermione, I can’t apologize enough for standing you up.”

“No, you can’t,” she agreed. Her arms were crossed firmly over her chest when she turned to face him and her gaze was guarded. “In fact, it was probably the most insulting thing you could have done.”

Draco took a few tentative steps towards her while he mentally rehearsed all the things he had planned to say. “I went to visit my father in Azkaban.” He ran a nervous hand through his hair and released a shaky breath. He hated being so honest, so vulnerable. “I have visited him before, but it’s still difficult to see him so… deteriorated. He was rambling madly about rallying the troops and attempting to reinstate the Old Families. It brought back too many memories, and I couldn’t…” Draco trailed off, eyes fixed firmly on the floor and shoulders slumped. He whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Whatever anger still lingered in Hermione evaporated at the sight of the pain in Draco’s eyes. She hadn’t realized he had dark circles under his eyes, and his cheek bones looked even more prominent than they normally did. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days.

“You could have owled,” she said softly. “I didn’t hear from you for days, Draco.”

“I know,” he said and frowned. His gaze was still firmly on the floor, and she wished he would look at her. “It took me several days to… recover from my visit with Lucius. Writing an apology didn’t feel good enough; it doesn’t mean nearly as much as coming to you in person. I —” His words were cut off by the sudden feeling of Hermione wrapping her arms around his waist. He stood still for a moment, blinking owlishly at her, before he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

The feeling of her head resting against his chest and her hair beneath his chin caused an unfamiliar sense of comfort to bloom in his chest. He buried his nose in in her curls and closed his eyes, basking in her warmth. She smelled like cinnamon and sugar, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

After several quiet moments, Hermione pulled her head back and looked up at him. She was smiling but her eyes flashed with warning. “Next time, send me an owl. Then we won’t have to go through all this unnecessary drama.”

Draco looked down at her, his heart swelling at the sweet smile on her face, and he couldn’t help but smile back. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to kiss her, but the questions he kept at bay of what they were and what this all meant rushed to the front of his mind and kept him frozen in place.

“I want to make it up to you.”

Surprise sparked in Hermione’s eyes, and her smile widened. “There’s no need,” she said while shaking her head. “I forgive you. It was just a misunderstanding.”

“I know,” he said softly. He leaned a little closer to her, their noses nearly touching and a quiet tension bloomed between them. “But I still want to make it up to you.” His hands slid slowly from her shoulders down to her hips, and his thumbs rubbed softly at the sliver of skin exposed by her shirt. “Are you sure there’s absolutely no way I can make it up to you?”

Hermione’s breath hitched in her chest, and a warm flush began to burn her cheeks. She cleared her throat and asked, “Anything?”

“Anything.” His eyes glanced down at her lips and he murmured, “Anything at all.”

“Woo me.”

The tension that had been building between them vanished, and Draco pulled his head back to look at her properly. Confusion caused his brows to furrow and he said, as though he hadn’t heard her properly, “Woo me.”

“Yes.” Seeing him so off balance caused all hesitation to vanish from her, and her smile was full of challenge. “I would like to think we didn’t go through all this trouble because of a dinner between friends.”

He nodded silently, refusing to allow himself to hope that Hermione was saying what he thought she might be saying.

“Then woo me,” she said. “Convince me that dinner with you would be the wisest decision I could make. Convince me that this,” she said with a wave of her hand between them, “isn’t a fluke.”

Draco hummed quietly, as though considering her proposal, and pulled her closer to him by her hips. He smirked as her blush returned and asked, “Are you sure you’re ready for me to court you? The full force of my attention might be a bit… overwhelming.”

The rumble of his voice when he said that last word caused Hermione’s heart to falter and her stomach to tighten.

“I can handle it.” Her voice sounded far less convincing than she would have liked.

“I bet you can,” he said with a secretive smile. He tucked a stray curl behind her ear and brushed the back of his knuckles against her cheek. “My brave little lioness.”

Hermione preened quietly under his praise and bit her lower lip to keep from smiling too widely.

Draco gazed intently at her mouth, and his thumb drifted down from her cheek to pull her lower lip free from her teeth. “Hermione,” he whispered. His thumb traced her bottom lip back and forth, sending tingles through her mouth.

“Please.” She wasn’t sure what she was asking for, she just knew whatever she needed in that moment only he could give.

Doubt flashed through his grey eyes, warring with the desire she could see and longed to drown herself in. Desire won out, and he gripped her chin gently in his fingers to turn her face towards his. Her breath caught in her chest, and anticipation sent delicious tingles over every inch of her skin. Her heart beat so loudly in her chest she was certain he could hear it.

His lips finally brushed against hers in the faintest of touches, and her eyes drifted shut.

Draco’s hand drifted down from her chin to wrap softly around the back of her neck, and her fingers found their way into his hair.

He backed her up until she was pinned between Draco and the nearest wall, his body pressed tightly against hers. She hummed into his mouth, pulling gently on his hair to try and bring him even closer. He growled quietly in return and sent shivers dancing down her spine.

Breathing heavily, he pulled away from her just far enough to rest his forehead against hers.

She gazed up at him, taking in his closed eyes and flushed features, and smiled. “I can handle it,” she whispered coyly, “but can you?”

Draco’s eyes snapped open, and the passion burning in his eyes nearly lit her insides on fire. He swallowed thickly and tried desperately to compose himself. He wanted to ravish her, to wreck her so thoroughly that she hardly remembered her own name. Instead, he said, “I should go.”

Disappointment welled up inside her and quickly smothered the fire inside her. She tried to think of something to say, but the only thing that came out was a small, “Oh.”

He gently combed his fingers through her hair, tugging softly when they encountered a knot. His fingertips traced her collar bone, up her neck and over her jaw. “You have no idea how much I want to stay,” he murmured. His eyes were fixed once more on her lips, and her skin tingled in the wake of his touch. “But I really should be going. I have meetings for work, and showing up late would be distinctly unprofessional.”

Hermione pulled on the bottom of his shirt, gaze focused on her hands so Draco couldn’t see the disappointment she was sure was there in her eyes. “I understand,” she said. “Work is important.” She felt his hand grasp her chin once more and tilt her face up towards his. Their eyes met, and she flushed at the amused smile he gave her. “What?”

“You’re cute when you pout,” he said.

She frowned up at him and huffed.

He chuckled and said, “Just like that.”

“I may have forgiven you, but that doesn’t mean you can make fun of me,” Hermione grumbled, still frowning.

“Of course not,” he agreed. And when he placed a gentle kiss against her forehead, her heart melted. “You’re the most stubborn witch I have ever met.”

“You love it.” Hermione grinned impishly at him. “You always have.”

Draco hummed thoughtfully and tugged on the end of one of her curls. “I think that is one of the things that drew me to you when we were younger. Your endless intelligence, and your ability to outwit everyone you met. Drove me mad.” He wrapped the curl around his finger and tugged a bit harder causing her head to tilt slightly. “Unfortunately for you, this is one game of chess that I have every intention of winning, and the odds are weighted in my favor.”

She squinted her eyes skeptically at him and asked, “You think you can out-stubborn me, don’t you?”

“I don’t think it, I know it.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. “Is that so?”

He smirked devilishly at her. “I may have come in second place in our classes, but romance is hardly something you can study.”

“Can’t I?” She reached out and began fidgeting with one of the buttons of his shirt and said, “You must think very highly of yourself if you think even I can’t resist your charms.”

“You won’t want to,” he said confidently. “Once I set my mind to this, you will fall for me so fast you will forget you were supposed to be resisting me.”

She leaned up on her toes to brush her lips slowly across his jaw, and when they reached his ear she whispered, “Do your worst.”

His gaze was dark and his deep chuckle full of wicked desire as he made his way to the door. “Have a good day, Hermione.”

She watched the door close and released a quiet sigh. Her skin was tingling, and her heart still thundered in her chest. She felt as though she had just finished running a marathon. Shoving her fingers roughly into her curls, Hermione tried to force the blush to leave her cheeks.

Jumping at the shrill whistle that cut through the quiet, she dashed to remove her tea kettle from the stove. She went through the motions of pouring her tea, her thoughts far too distracted to focus on anything aside from Draco. Her fingers reached up to brush softly against her lips.

Despite her bravado, Hermione wasn’t so certain that she had the strength or the patience for whatever Draco planned to do next.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know it's not Thursday, but I had all day off and am rather impatient. So here's the chapter early! You'll probably recognize it from the old version, but it's a little revamped and (hopefully) not as choppy. It really was just too funny for me to take out. See you all next week!

The atmosphere of the office was still, the only sound was the crackle of the fire in the fireplace and the muffled footsteps of Draco’s pacing. An empty glass of firewhiskey sat on the mantle with an equally empty bottle perched next to it. A thoroughly unimpressed Blaise lounged in the armchair across from the fire, more interested in the empty glass in his hand than his friend’s plight.

“A tragedy,” Blaise grumbled quietly.

“It’s not a tragedy,” Draco replied absentmindedly, still prowling from one side of the room to the other. “It’s merely a complication.”

Blaise rolled his eyes and laid his head back against the armchair. “Not everything is about you, Draco. I was talking about our more immediate problem: we’re out of liquor.”

Draco gave him a bland look. “I hardly think more liquor is going to help up solve my predicament.”

“Us,” Blaise echoed with a scoff. “I’m not drinking to help you, mate. I’m drinking so I can handle you and your dramatics.”

“You’re certainly one to talk about dramatics.”

Ignoring the quip, Blaise lazily waved his wand and opened the liquor cabinet. The contents came floating out in single file, hovering past him and returning to the cabinet one after the other as he discarded them.

Draco resumed his pacing. 

Woo me.

Hermione’s words echoed through his mind, the phantom of a chill running down his spine at the memory of her breath in his ear, the enticing tone of her voice as she whispered those words to him. Wooing a woman was an art he had mastered long ago in his years at Hogwarts, at least he liked to believe he had. He prided himself in his ability to ensnare any female who caught his fancy, but this was Hermione Granger. The Gryffindor Princess and the Brightest Witch of Her Age. He might as well throw his entire book of gambits out his office window.

Blaise plucked a bottle of liquor from the air with a triumphant smile, but the smile fell when he heard a low growl come from the direction of Draco’s pacing. He sighed, shook his head, and muttered, “Not strong enough.” The bottle floated out of his grasp and went to join the others.

“It shouldn’t be this difficult,” Draco said. He ran frustrated fingers through his hair and caused the blond locks to stick up at odd angles.

“You’re right,” Blaise agreed. “It shouldn’t be. You’re one of the most desirable bachelors in England, second only to myself of course. Wooing a witch should be second nature to you, mate. Flirtations as easy as breathing. And yet,” Blaise trailed off and threw a condescending look over to Draco, “here we are.”

The corner of Draco’s lip twitched in irritation. “You are the least helpful bloke I’ve ever met.”

“I can’t be useful all the time, it’s bad for my image.”

The room fell into silence once more as Draco lost himself in his thoughts. His mind raced with possibilities, each discarded more quickly than the last. Hermione was too unique for any of the usual methods to work. She would either be unimpressed or insulted and revoke his second chance. He would need something far more clever than any trick before and brilliantly romantic. His pacing halted mid step, foot held suspended in the air.

Tricks.

That’s where he was going wrong. No mere trick would work because this was no fling to be sought after and then discarded. Draco resisted the urge to hit himself for his own stupidity. “By Salazar,” he groaned and stuffed his fingers back into his hair.

Ignorant to his friend’s revelation, Blaise finally contributed, “We could always call on Pansy to help. She’s a witch.”

Draco snorted at Blaise’s brilliant observation and shook his head. Finished pacing, he made his way to the office window overlooking a small garden and said, “I would rather leave Pansy out of the loop on this one.”

“If she’s not already working out her own plan to help you.”

He bit back a sigh at the truth of the statement. Leave it to Pansy to get overly involved. “Regardless, this is something that can be done without her assistance. I want calling on Pansy to be my absolute last resort. She meddles far too often for my liking.” A sound near the fireplace drew Draco’s attention, and he turned in time to see Blaise toss a handful of powder from his chair and the fire turn a brilliant green.

Blaise crooked a falsely apologetic smile at Draco. “Apologies in advance, mate.”

Before Draco could protest, Blaise called out Pansy’s name and the fireplace spit out the witch in question. Daintily dusting off her robes, Pansy surveyed the room.

“I hear my expertise in the wooing of women is required?”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and resisted the urge to hit Blaise over the head with the nearest object. “Zabini,” he growled.

Blaise just grinned and summoned a new bottle from the liquor cabinet, one that apparently met his preferences. “Your grumbling and pacing were giving me a migraine,” he whined. “There’s no decent liquor left, and I needed something to entertain me.”

Draco plucked the bottle from Blaise’s hand as he passed him and placed it heavily on the mantle. Ignoring Blaise’s immediate protests, Draco turned to Pansy with his arms crossed over his chest. “While I appreciate you dropping in to help me, Pans, it really won’t be necessary.”

Pansy looked from Draco to a pouting Blaise to the bottle on the mantle and back again. She arched a single, dark brow at him and drawled, “Yes, I can see you have it very well handled.”

“Yes, well.” Draco waved his hands vaguely in the air as he attempted to find an excuse that would convince Pansy to leave.

“If you’re going to be wooing a witch who more or less despised your very existence for nearly a decade, you are going to need all the help you can get.” Pansy waved her wand to summon a wine glass which she quickly filled and moved to sit in the armchair across from Blaise. “You should begin simply.”

Blaise immediately rolled his eyes. “Yes, because simple is going to work so well with her.”

“Don’t interrupt,” Pansy snapped. “Especially with things you know little about.”

Draco cut off what was sure to be an indignant rant about Blaise’s wondrous ways with women and asked, “How simply are you proposing?”

Pansy hummed and swirled her wine glass thoughtfully. “Small gestures to begin with. They show you are putting in the effort and are thinking about her. Grand displays of affection will seem thoughtless and get you nowhere. Subtlety with meaning will go farther than empty theatrics.”

“What are you going to do,” Blaise asked sardonically. “Send her flowers?”

“Of course not,” Pansy said defensively. “Flowers wouldn’t be enough.”

Draco let out a silent breath of relief. He was worried about involving Pansy and wary of whatever tricks she may come up with. “Flowers are far too overdone, Blaise.”

Blaise scoffed, “Of course they are. That’s why I assumed she would want to use them.”

“And is that why you used them on Pamella in fifth year,” Pansy retorted.

“It worked well enough on you when Rosier sent them to you in third year.”

“I was acting, you oaf. I didn’t want to hurt his delicate sensitivities before a quidditch match.”

“Oh, because you’ve always cared so much for the illustrious sport, right, Pans?”

“You sound like a petulant child,” she snapped. “Trying to use big words he heard the adults using in order to sound smart.”

“If you consider ‘illustrious’ a big word, Parkinson, then your intelligence is even lower than I thought.” Blaise put a hand to his chin in thought. “Is that even possible,” he mused.

“It’s possible, Zabini. Haven’t you heard yourself? Your wit is as lacking as a confounded Hufflepuff first year.”

Blaise gasped loudly and put a hand to his chest. “How dare you,” he shouted. “You self-obsessed —”

“Oh I’m self-obsessed?”

“And egotistical!”

“Those are synonyms, you half-wit.”

“Is that the best you can come up with?”

Blaise and Pansy were toe to toe spitting insults in each other’s faces while Draco looked on from his spot leaned against the window frame. Having seen this behavior before, he was entirely unamused by their antics and unwilling to intervene.

“It’s the only insult your little Italian brain can understand, darling.”

“You can’t use my Italian heritage as an insult, Pansy. It’s a compliment.”

“You’re right, how foolish of me. It’s the only insult your Gryffindor brain could comprehend. Is that better?”

“Oi!” Blaise shoved a finger in Pansy’s face and snarled, “That’s too far.”

“Is it,” she asked coyly. “After all, you are what you eat. Wasn’t there a rumor about you and Finnegan going around?”

Blaise blanched, going pale despite his olive complexion. “I would never!”

“Never,” Pansy asked with a sneer. “I didn’t think you were capable of having standards.”

“Says the one caught snogging Crabbe in fourth year,” he retorted with a triumphant grin.

“That was a dare during Game Night,” Pansy shrieked indignantly. “That doesn’t count.”

“Then neither do rumors!”

“They do if they’re true.”

“Enough,” Draco snapped. He needed to end the argument before it came to blows. Those two had enough blackmail material for the conversation to go on for centuries as well as a notorious reputation for knock-down-drag-outs that used to send most of Slytherin house scurrying to their rooms. “What did you have in mind, Pansy.”

—..—

Confusion was not often an emotion seen on the face of owls, but this particular bird was having a difficult night. Carrying a package nearly as large as himself, Hermes struggled through the night winds. His master had asked him to venture out in the dead of night and travel through the cold rain all the way to… What was the lady’s name again?

Landing less than gracefully on a rooftop, Hermes ruffled his grey feathers and clicked his beak in irritation. His master would owe him many treats for this escapade. His yellow eyes gazed out over the rooftops, slowly inspecting each window through the rain, before a blue light caught his attention. He took flight once more and flew towards the window outlined in a deep blue glow - the magical beacon for his destination. Perching precariously on the wet windowsill while being mindful of the package gripped tightly in his talons, Hermes pecked sharply against the glass. When he wasn’t immediately allowed inside, angry yellow eyes searched the room beyond.

Fairy lights were strung haphazardly across the ceiling, bathing the room in a warm yellow glow. Books littered every available surface, some left open to important passages to be remembered and others bookmarked with various items. Curled up in the corner of the room and nearly swallowed by an overstuffed chair, Hermione sat quietly reading.

If owls could frown, this one did. Hermes beat his beak against the window again, this time with more gusto. Ignorant to the angry bundle of feathers dripping with rain outside her window, Hermione slowly turned the page of her book and continued reading. Irate at being left out in the rain, Hermes let out an ear piercing screech. The sound was so jarring that it caused Hermione to drop her book and swiftly draw her wand and take a defensive stance. Realizing the sound had come from a tiny, rain soaked owl, Hermione smiled at her own nerves and went to let the poor creature in.

A short tussle and several nips to Hermione’s fingers later, and Hermes was bundled in a hand towel on the kitchen counter while Hermione nursed her wounds. She wondered at the look of simultaneous contentment and smug satisfaction on the owl’s face before her attention was drawn to the package he had brought her. Hermione eyed the nondescript package with wary curiosity and opened the note attached to the top; the weather protection charms artfully attached to the package not escaping her notice.

_“Hermione, please accept this gift as a step towards our second chance. - Draco”_

Hermione allowed her eyes to wander over the note once or twice more, taking notice to the small nuances in his handwriting, before she eagerly opened the small gift. Removing the box’s lid, her smile faded slightly. She sighed and muttered, “Oh dear.” She turned from the gift at the sound of the front door opening and smiled when she saw Ginny. “Perfect timing, Gin. Come look at the gift I just received.”

Ginny stepped into the kitchen and peaked over Hermione’s shoulder at the small box of chocolates in her hands. “Who are they from?”

“Draco.”

Ginny raised her brows in surprise and plucked a chocolate from the box. “Draco Malfoy sent you a box of chocolates.”

Hermione shrugged and set the box down on the table. “I told him to woo him, and this was his first attempt.”

“That’s the most ridiculous gift he could have gotten you,” Ginny managed to say through her boisterous laughter. “Your parents are teeth healers!”

“Dentists,” Hermione corrected absentmindedly. She had explained her parents profession to Ginny numerous times through their years as friends, but the poor witch was never able to fully grasp the idea. Hermione smiled lightly at the gift and shook her head. It was a thoughtful gesture, but sweets had never held any appeal to her.

Ginny picked another chocolate from the box and popped it into her mouth. “He’ll have to get to know you better first if he has any hope of making progress with his flirtations.”

“I’ll have to owl him,” Hermione said. She grabbed a small handful of owl treats from a jar on her window sill and set them before Draco’s owl which was looking thankfully less water logged. “I would return them but…” She glanced over her shoulder with an amused grin at the now half-empty box of chocolates.

Ginny shrugged and ate another chocolate. “I’ll give him credit,” she said around a mouthful of sweets. “He’s got good taste.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ginny’s lack of manners and went to retrieve her stationary from her desk. “It was sweet of him but still misinformed. Anyone who knows me knows I don’t eat sweets, but I suppose you’re correct. He doesn’t know me yet.” The ‘yet’ at the end of her sentence gave her hope. “At least he’s chosen the subtle route.”

“As opposed to?”

“Slytherins are rather well known for their dramatics. I was half-expecting him to pull some dramatic, public stunt that would have ultimately embarrassed us both. I have had more than my fair share of attention from the press, and would rather keep my face out of the papers. If Draco intends to vie for my affections, I would prefer he did it in a subtle and private manner.”

Ginny rolled her eyes at Hermione’s worst-case-scenario mentality. “Fair enough. What are you writing?”

“Just a quick note thanking him for the gift and informing him that I will unfortunately be unable to enjoy it.”

—..—

“For fuck’s sake.”

Draco’s exasperated shouting startled Blaise from his drunkenly sprawled position on what he now deemed to be his chair. “Whatsit?” He tried to sit up and rubbed at his face. Focusing on Draco’s renewed pacing before the fireplace made him nauseous, so he dropped his head back down against the arm rest and groaned.

“She doesn’t eat chocolate,” Draco answered in astonishment.

Blaise blinked his eyes open and frowned. “Well thas jus inhuman.”

Draco rolled his eyes at Blaise and chastised, “Zabini, you’re slurring your words already.”

“Am not!” Blaise popped up in his chair indignantly. The intimidation in his glare was lost, however, when he swayed in his seat, his eyes struggling to focus on Draco.

Draco ran agitated fingers through his hair and stopped before the fireplace. He grabbed a handful of floo powder and made a call to his more sober, and hopefully more helpful, friend. The flames burst to life with a vibrant green glow, and he knelt down before them. Unable to see her through the flames, Draco yelled, “Pansy, are you home?”

“What is it Draco?” Her voice carried from another room that was out of Draco’s field of vision, and she sounded distinctly irritated. “I am rather busy.”

He bit the inside of his cheek and said the one thing he knew would get her attention, “Blaise is drunk, and I need your help with Hermione.”

There was a short pause, and then she entered the view of the flames at a brusque pace. “Move over,” she demanded. “I’m coming through.”

Pulling his head back out of the fireplace, Draco reassessed the mess that was Blaise. He was lounged across his favorite chair in the most undignified manner, head lolled back over one armrest and limbs sprawled haphazardly across the other, an empty wine glass tangling from the tips of his fingers. Draco shook his head and left Blaise to his drunken stupor.

"Blaise, you're looking more useless than usual," Pansy quipped announcing her arrival.

"She doesn't eat chocolates." Draco barely gave her any time to step out of the fireplace and brush herself off. "I'm back to square one."

"I told you we should do things my way," Blaise mumbled.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "That's the last thing we want to do." She read over the note Draco held out to her before handing it back to him. "So she doesn't eat chocolates, it's hardly the end of the world. There a thousands of other ways to woo a witch.”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and bit back a frustrated growl. “She probably doesn’t think I care, and that I’m not fully invested. I should have known she didn’t eat chocolates, or at least had the thought to ask.”

“She probably just thinks you’re an idiot,” Blaise chirped helpfully.

“You would be the authority on that subject,” Pansy retorted.

Blaise raised his head to glare at Pansy. “If you would just let me try my idea,” he whined. “It’s a really good one.”

“You can try next time,” she lied sweetly.

Draco reclaimed her attention and asked, “What do you think I should do?”

She gazed thoughtfully into space for a moment before suggesting, “We could always go back to our first idea.”

—..—

Hermione was startled awake by the most disgruntled owl sitting on her chest. Warily eying the aggressive expression it wore, she gently reached forward to move him off her chest and onto the back of the sofa she was laying on. Recognizing the owl from its visit earlier in the day, Hermione smiled sweetly at it and cooed, “Hello again, beautiful bird. Would you like some lunch?”

The owl cocked its head this way and that as if determining the worth of her offer. It hooted softly and flew up to perch on her shoulder. Its talons gripped her shirt firmly as she made her way into the kitchen.

She poured a bowl of bird feed for the owl and set it next to the perch she kept for mail owls. She was beginning to dig through her refrigerator for something to prepare for her own lunch when she paused. There was an owl in her kitchen, but what had the owl brought with it?

Hermione turned from the refrigerator and caught sight of an envelope on her kitchen counter. Glancing over it, she recognized Draco’s handwriting and smiled.

_“Perhaps this will be more to your liking. Tap the parchment twice - Draco”_

Her smile grew as she tapped the corner of the note against her counter top. Leave it to Draco to use a gift as an opportunity to show off his magic. The parchment flew from her fingers and spun in the air a few inches from the counter top. There was a popping noise as the note vanished and was replaced by a vase filled with a bouquet of bright yellow sunflowers.

“Oh dear.” Hermione quickly covered her nose and jumped back, hitting the fridge and nearly toppling over in her rush to get away from the flowers. The damage was already done. Her chest tightened and her eyes burned as she fought against the inevitable.

“Ah - ah - achoo!”

—..—

"Son of a bitch!"

"Ha!" Blaise thrust his finger into Pansy's face. "I told you flowers were stupid!"

Pansy glared at Blaise and slowly moved his finger out of her face. "Astounding, Zabini. You managed to have an intelligent thought and remember it later. Who knew you were capable?"

"Ladies, could we focus on the issue at hand please?” Draco tried to interrupt their argument before it could gain any traction. “We've managed to find the one food she does not eat and the one flower she is allergic to. We are effectively back to square one without any other ideas." Draco crumpled up Hermione's most recent note and threw it into Blaise's face effectively distracting him from retaliating with Pansy.

A wicked smile lit Blaise's face. "Does that mean -"

"No." Draco's tone left no room for argument.

"But you said -"

"No," Pansy snapped. She glared at him to try and silence him, but their childhood either left him immune or oblivious.

"But Draco -"

"There has to be another idea, another move." Draco faced Pansy which effectively cut Blaise out of the conversation. "I could ask her to dinner?"

"She's probably afraid of receiving mail from you now." Pansy held her hand up against Blaise's mouth to silence his stream of protests.

“I could visit her at work.”

“Far too public. She might have customers there.”

“What if I —”

“Did you just lick my hand,” Pansy screeched and wheeled on Blaise who looked far too smug. "You disgusting waste of magic! You imbecilic, narcissistic cretin! I should remove your tongue for that!"

Blaise waved his hand dismissively and said, “If you had listened to me the first time, I wouldn’t have to resort to such drastic measures.”

Pansy hissed, “What do you want?”

“Simply to say that it’s taken care of.”

Pansy and Draco went deathly still. The temperature of the room seemed to drop several degrees, and Draco stared at Blaise with an uncomprehending gaze. “What do you mean,” he asked slowly. “What is taken care of?”

Blaise looked smug, entirely unaware of the tension in the room. “You said I could try this time, so I took a crack at it.”

Pansy took a quick step back, narrowly missing Draco’s arm when he made a grab for the collar of Blaise’s shirt. Blaise danced out of reach quickly with the faintest glimmer of dread blooming in his dark eyes. He was beginning to see the fury building in Draco.

“What did you do?” The icy threat dripping from Draco’s voice sent a chill down Blaise’s spine and caused him to swallow thickly, all sense of bravado vanishing.

“I had a plan,” he explained quietly, “and it’s already in motion.” The final nail in his coffin. He glanced at the fireplace, but Pansy stood with a steely expression between him and his escape.

Draco’s expression darkened. “Call it off.”

“But it took me hours to train those doves,” he protested weakly.

“Doves,” Pansy said in horror. “Please tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.” She advanced towards Blaise with a pleading expression mingling with her outrage. “Please tell me you aren’t as stupid as I think you are.”

Blaise chuckled nervously and held his hands up in front of him in a placating gesture. “Now, Pans.”

“Please,” she said as she drew her wand, “tell me you actually listened to me for once when I told you that was easily the stupidest idea you have ever had.”

“Explain,” Draco demanded loudly. “What did you do, Zabini?”

Pansy’s thunderous gaze remained fixed on Blaise. “Draco, I would suggest finding Hermione immediately. If you are quick enough, you might be able to stop them.”

Blaise opened his mouth to protest but was cut off by Pansy’s raised wand.

“Run,” she hissed.

And he did just that.

—..—

There is a feeling of horror that is usually experienced only a handful of times in a person’s life. It sweeps the body with a hollow, numbing chill before exploding into the hottest rage. It’s a full-bodied fear that causes the muscles to tense before being overwhelmed by a deep seated rage and humiliation. Hermione had experienced this type of horror exactly twice in her life, and this moment would unfortunately have to be added to the list.

She had been standing in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic discussing a new patent she was proposing, having managed to find the right Ministry employee just as he was leaving for the afternoon, when the most ungodly cacophony of noise harassed her senses. Twelve doves magically appeared in the middle of the atrium in an explosion of feathers and flower petals. They were carrying a massive heart built entirely of red and pink roses, the smell of which filled the atrium. The already horrific sight was only made worse when the doves opened their beaks and let out what Hermione assumed was supposed to be a song:

_Hermione, oh Hermione  
The loveliest sight are thee  
Such beauty and radiance  
My eyes ever did see  
You set my heart aflutter  
Whene'er you look my way  
Please grant me the greatest pleasure  
And join me for dinner today?_

The song finally ended, and the dramatic harp music that had been playing in accompaniment with the singing reached a crescendo causing Hermione's already startled heartbeat to quicken even further. The doves flew directly over her head and rained down an absurd amount of rose petals and, to her mounting horror, glitter onto her head.

The silence that followed the doves magical disappearance caused Hermione's ears to ring. She could feel her face flushing warm and red underneath her now sparkling skin and wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor and disappear. Harsh whispers echoed through the atrium as the last few Ministry employees stopped to watch her public mortification. The room was silenced once more as the front doors of the Ministry were thrown open and thumped loudly against the Ministry walls.

Draco Malfoy stepped into the room and glanced anxiously around the room. When his eyes met hers, he froze.

The glitter in her hair and on her shoulders was illuminated by the atrium lights and caused her to glow. The blush on her face and barely contained tears in her eyes caused his heart to constrict painfully in his chest. Blaise may have put this in motion, but her embarrassment was his fault.

He opened his mouth to say something, apologize if he could, but he didn’t get the chance.

Hermione apparated out of the room with a ‘pop’ so loud it echoed off the walls.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday, darlings! I don't know why, but I woke up in a fantastic mood this morning. I loved reading all of your comments this week! Poor Draco, poor Hermione. Blaise really did have good intentions (I think). But time to handle the fallout! I hope you all have an amazing week, stay safe out there, and I'll see you again next week!

Hermione packed a bag blindly. Tears clouded her vision and glitter fell down on her clothes as she shoved them into her overnight bag. Her throat ached and tightened as she clenched her jaw to try and keep from crying. The weight of her mortification was causing her shoulders to sag, and it seemed like the only thing her mind was capable of doing was replaying the horrifying incident on a ceaseless loop.

Doves. The damned fool had charmed doves, and glitter, and rose petals, and everything else that Hermione could have possibly hated. And she had been in the middle of the Ministry of Magic, of all places.

A wordless cry of frustration escaped her lips as she threw a pair of jeans in the general direction of her bag.

She was a fool. A fool for believing Draco Malfoy had actually been sincere, that he would care enough to get to know her, to get to know the things she liked and disliked. If he had cared to have a single conversation with her, she could have told him she had allergies, and dentist parents, and a severe aversion to public displays of lunacy.

Her breathing was ragged, but she couldn’t force herself to calm down. Thoughts traveling a mile a minute, Hermione shoved the rest of her toiletries into her bag. She cast her usual stream of locking and protection charms on her flat and checked to make sure she had everything she needed. With a steadying breath, Hermione apparated to the one place she knew she could find peace and quiet.

Just the fresh air of the quiet muggle street was enough to calm her erratic heartbeat. She checked to make sure there was no one to observe her sudden appearance and swiftly crossed the street. Overnight bag slung over her shoulder, Hermione allowed herself a small smile as the door bell announced her presence throughout White Wolf Designs as she pushed in the front door. The smell of incense filled her senses and brought a sensation she hadn't felt in a long time. She was home.

"Hermione!" A flash of yellow appearing from Hermione's right was the only warning she got before she was body slammed and brought to the floor.

Wheezing with laughter, Hermione wrapped her arms around her assailant. "Miranda! How are you?"

The so-named Miranda popped her head up and sent Hermione a dazzling smile. "I've been wonderful. But oh how I've missed you, darling!" She stood and offered Hermione a hand, allowing the witch to get a good look at her friend.

Miranda was a small woman standing at only 5'1", but what she lacked in height she more than made up for in personality. She was sporting a vibrant yellow tank top that perfectly fit her sunny disposition. Tattooed arms on display, the colorful ink designs offset her mocha skin beautifully. After Hermione stood upright again, Miranda held her at arms length and gave her a once over.

"Hermione, you are practically glowing! Shop ownership looks good on you." Miranda winked and pulled Hermione in for a hug. "White Wolf has been far too quiet without you, though. How long are you here for?"

Hermione returned the hug gratefully. "I haven't really decided yet. I sort of left on a whim; just needed to clear my head for a bit."

Miranda gave her a skeptical look that promised future interrogation on the subject. "Heartbreak or stress?"

"Heartbreak is a bit of a strong word," Hermione answered tentatively knowing how protective Miranda could be.

"I'll kill him for you."

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary."

"They'll never find the body."

"Mo, honestly."

"Well, you're welcome to stay as long as you'd like. You know my guest room is always ready for you if you need an escape. And if you do end up needing my services, just let me know. I know a guy." The smile Miranda gave her made Hermione wonder if she did in fact know a guy.

Hermione smiled appreciatively. "You're the most wonderful friend, Miranda. What would I do without you?"

"You'd be a lonely secretary at some boring, colorless business firm in the middle of nowhere dying from the lack of excitement in your life."

Joy filling her heart, Hermione laughed along with Miranda at the truth of the statement. Not for the first time she wished Miranda were a witch so they could see each other more often. The division between the muggle and wizarding worlds was one Hermione seemed destined to struggle with. Not allowing herself to dwell on the thought, Hermione asked, "Is Jacob in?"

Before Miranda could answer the door to the back office opened, and Hermione smiled.

"Hello, Jacob."

—..—

Draco was growing very tired of standing on doorsteps ready to apologize. Granted, this time was hardly his fault, but he still felt the need to beg for her forgiveness. He had missed whatever horrors Blaise had planned and only witnessed their aftermath, but even that had been enough to fill him with overwhelming dread and leave a bad taste in his mouth. The look Hermione had given him before she left…

He would apologize to Hermione and then find and eviscerate Blaise.

When he arrived at Virago’s storefront, he was surprised to find all the store lights were off and the sign in the window read “Closed”. Draco’s brow furrowed as he cast a tempus charm and confirmed that the shop should have been open by now.

“Good morning, Draco.”

Glancing to his side, Draco flashed a smile at the pair of witches approaching him. “Luna, Weasley, good morning.”

“Were you waiting for us?” Ginny strode to the front of the shop and tossed him a smirk over her shoulder as she unlocked the door. “You shouldn’t have.”

Draco opened his mouth to say something snide but was cut off by Luna. “Hush, Gin. He’s obviously here to see Hermione.”

His instinct told him to deny it, but he was sure that Hermione had already told her friends what had happened. Draco nodded and said, “I was hoping to stop in before she had any appointments so I could speak with her.”

Ginny motioned for him to follow her into the shop as she bustled around to open for the day. “Unfortunately for you, our favorite artist is off on a sabbatical.”

Draco leaned against the front desk so he could stay out of her way while Luna wandered into the back of the store while mumbling something about a nargel infestation in the office.

“What do you mean sabbatical?”

“She’s taking a break,” Ginny yelled from one of the other rooms she had gone into. “Got an owl last night asking me to run the shop for the next few days, field appointments, reschedule until she comes back.”

“Back from where,” he all but demanded.

Ginny stepped back into the room with a fierce frown on her face. “From wherever she pleases. Some arsehole publicly humiliated her, so she decided to take a vacation.”

Draco felt his heart clench and his stomach churn with regret. “I tried to stop it,” he said quietly. “It was Blaise, and I…”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Ginny gave him a look that was so similar to Pansy’s ‘I’m disappointed in you’ look that it caused a shiver to run down his spine. “I’m sure you had every intention of learning what she liked, how to properly romance her, and this was all just a misunderstanding. But you didn’t. And now my best friend is hurting, and the one who hurt her is standing before me entirely defenseless.”

Draco became acutely aware of the space, or lack there of, between himself and the most notorious temper in all his years at Hogwarts. Weighing his odds of winning a fight against the Ginevra Weasley and finding them less than desirable, he held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Weasley, I promise, hurting her was the last thing I wanted to do.”

Ginny barked a laugh and thumped his chest with her fist. "Calm down, Malfoy, I'm not going to hurt you. That's for Hermione to do. I'm sure you didn't intend to hurt her, but the matter still stands that you did. You'll have to make amends with her somehow, and that's for you to sort out on your own."

Releasing a small breath of relief and rubbing lightly at the spot she had punched, Draco smiled at Ginny. "Thank you. Any advice for a dead man walking?"

"Run."

The serious expression on Ginny's face and cold tone of her voice caused Draco's blood to turn to ice. His complexion turned impossibly pale as his mind scrambled for purchase.

"You're scaring him, Ginevra." Draco jumped at Luna's sudden reappearance behind him and sent her a pleading look.

Ginny laughed again at the few moments of terror she had managed to inflict. "Merlin, Draco, you make it too easy!"

Draco rolled his eyes at her and huffed. "This is why I can't be friends with you Weasleys. You try my nearly nonexistent patience."

"It's a true gift." Ginny winked and sauntered off behind the counter.

Taking pity on the poor man, Luna finally offered an explanation. “Hermione has returned to her pack.”

He frowned. “Her pack?”

“The White Wolf became her home after the War, her place of healing and rebuilding, especially after familial tragedies. You can find her there.”

Draco stared at her, uncomprehending. “Pack?” He shook his head and asked, “What White Wolf? I’m lost, Luna.”

Luna patted him on the arm and said, “Let’s go to brunch. I’ll explain more over tea.”

They both walked down to Black Dragon Brews together and snagged their usual table by the fireplace. Luna ordered her usual earl grey tea with a dash of cream and comfort and a sweet honey scone. Draco stared blankly at the menu and tried to decide what he needed for the day.

“A black coffee with a dash of hope?” The waitress smiled kindly at him, a dicta-quill poised and ready over her shoulder.

“Chai tea with clarity, please.”

The waitress nodded as though this were an excellent choice and left to get their drinks.

“You didn’t order your usual,” Luna said. She was looking at him thoughtfully, as though she already knew why but wanted him to say it.

Draco resisted the urge to fidget. “Hope is always nice, but clarity will be a bit more helpful today.”

Luna hummed but said nothing. Her eyes roamed the room, observing the people sitting around them and carefully avoiding the question burning inside Draco.

“The White Wolf,” he blurted. “What is it?”

Her smile was sweet, but he could see the underlying mischief. “The White Wolf is in the muggle world. It holds her second family.”

“Her second family?” He wanted to ask what had happened to her first, but he knew that was a question better saved for Hermione herself.

“The alpha,” Luna said. Her voice took on a serious tone he had never heard her use before. “He became her family when she lost everything and fled. But the beta is the one that saved her, the one you should be wary of.”

Draco stared at the witch with a baffled expression. Alphas and betas? “Is she with werewolves?” He all but shouted the question, awareness of the crowd around them being the only thing keeping his voice at an acceptable level. The thought of Hermione with werewolves terrified him after having seen the damage they had done during the Battle. “Hermione is with werewolves?”

Luna cocked her head to the side, not phased by the fear in his voice. “Of course not. She is with her old mentor, Jacob.”

The only sign Draco had heard her was the faintest twitch of his right eye. He looked lost, like his brain had halted mid-thought and left him stalling. Luna resisted the urge to smile as she watched his mind finally grasp onto what she had said and panic. Draco had spent far too much time relying on other people and needed to learn to trust himself, trust his own instincts and abilities. The fastest way to do that, in her opinion, was to unleash his competitive side.

“Who’s Jacob,” he asked with deceptive calm.

“The muggle that gave Hermione her first tattoo. He taught her everything she knows and helped her heal after the battle.” Luna accepted her tea from the waitress with a smile and murmured thanks, and she grinned into her tea cup as she watched Draco lose himself in his thoughts.

A small frown was working its way into the crease of his brows.

“I haven’t met him, but Hermione has wonderful things to say about him.” More fuel on the fire. She could see the fire sparking in his eyes, so she added, “She talks about him all the time; I’m surprised she never mentioned him.”

“Where?”

Luna hid her triumphant grin behind another sip of tea. “Where what?”

Draco took a slow sip of his tea. It was taking most of his self-control not to shake the answers out of Luna. “Where is she?”

“If you promise to behave,” she said, even though she hoped he wouldn’t, “I can apparate you there. Hermione took me once.”

Despite the still steaming contents, Draco drained the rest of his tea cup and stood from his chair.

“Oh,” Luna said with wide eyes. “You mean now?”

Draco nodded stiffly. He could feel some sort of territorial rage building inside him, one he wasn’t entitled to feel but it lurked there in the darkness inside him. “Now, please.”

Luna set a few coins on the table, promising herself Draco would pay next time, and followed him out of the coffee shop. They apparated to the alley across the street from White Wolf Designs. She kept her arm linked through his as she studied the small building.

“Luna?”

“Are you sure?” She looked up at him, her eyes measuring and uncertain. “Are you sure you don’t want to give her a few days?”

Draco sighed. “She didn’t appreciate me waiting to apologize last time, and I’m not a patient man. I want to speak with her, need to speak with her.”

Luna nodded and tried to smile reassuringly at him. “Just remember,” she said softly, “the lip is less painful than the nose. Try not to be too impulsive.”

He blinked at her several times and filed her warning - or advice? - away for later analysis. “Thank you, Luna.”

“Don’t thank me until after you’ve spoken with her,” she said with a wink.

Draco shook his head as she apparated away. Luna and her vague warnings. So foreboding, he thought with a fond smile. He shoved his hands in his pockets so he could ignore the tremor in his fingers.

The street was quiet. There were no muggles anywhere in sight, and yet he remained hidden by the shadows of the alley. He watched the shop across the street for several moments, unsure of what he was looking for. No one came or went, the curtains over the windows remained drawn, and for all intents and purposes the place looked closed.

He took a step forward towards the possibly empty shop, but as his weight landed on his heel, he turned and apparated away.

His breath left him in a weary sigh as he walked up the cobblestone path to the sprawling French villa. The pale walls glowed in the afternoon sun, and the tall trees swayed gently in the ocean breeze. The sharp clip of his steps against the path made him feel almost guilty for disrupting the peaceful quiet.

Draco knocked exactly once on the door before it popped open.

“Draco,” Narcissa Malfoy said with a gentle smile, “what a pleasant surprise.”

“Mother.” He stepped into the foyer and hugged his mother. “I apologize for not visiting sooner.”

“As you should. Come,” she said and rested her hand on his forearm, “tell me why you look so lost.”

Draco told her everything as they made their way onto the veranda and waited for a house elf to bring them tea. From the tattoos to Hermione’s new shop to the fiasco that caused her to run away. He told her everything except his visit with his father. Lucius’ arrest and fractures personality had left his Mother a mere shadow of herself. Now that Narcissa was finally regaining her former strength, he wasn’t willing to risk upsetting her.

“Your first mistake was not speaking with me first.”

Draco sighed and leaned his forehead against his clasped hands. “My sincerest apologies.” He could feel a headache coming on. “I didn’t realize I was supposed to come to you for romantic advice, Mother.”

Narcissa raised her brows skeptically and asked, “Do you honestly think your father was the one to take the lead in that aspect of our relationship?”

“No, I try not to consider your relationship at all if I can help it.”

“Maybe you should have considered it before you failed so miserably that she ran away.”

Draco lifted his head from his hands and frowned at her. “Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?”

“On the contrary.” Narcissa carefully poured herself a cup of tea seemingly oblivious to her son’s bruised ego. “I would almost think you hadn’t considered the young witch at all before coming up with your hair-brained schemes. It would appear as if you ran into the situation blindly and treated her like one of those faceless witches you ran through in school. But that’s absurd because I raised you better, did I not, Draco?”

Looking properly chastised, Draco accepted a cup of tea from her and offered her the small tray of milk and sugar. “I did try to consider her, but I was caught up in all the ideas Blaise and Pansy were coming up with.”

“Draco,” she interrupted sternly. “Why would you take advice of any kind from those two? They are hardly experienced when it comes to taking relationships seriously.”

“They are my friends, Mother.”

“They are children, and their ideas are only ever halfway thought through at the best of times.”

“Pansy had decent suggestions,” he mumbled.

“Dearest Theodore should have been the one you went to for advice,” she argued. “He is the only on between the four of you that thinks things through.”

Draco rolled his eyes even though he knew Narcissa would scold him for it. “Theo has hardly any experience in the realm of romance. Therefore, he was my last choice.”

“And yet.” Narcissa eyed him over the rim of her tea cup with a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. “Here we are.”

“Here we are,” he agreed miserably.

They sat in silence for a while, silently sipping their tea. Draco glanced at Narcissa several times, but she gave nothing away and pointedly ignored his gaze. She was looking out at the garden around them and appeared to be taking in the beauty of the fully blooming plants around them.

Finally, he caved. “Will you help me, please?”

The smile Narcissa gave him was warm, and he could see the myriad of ideas already swirling through her mind. “I thought you would never ask.” She set down her tea cup and daintily wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

Draco leaned forward in his seat, anticipating whatever great scheme his mother had managed to cook up.

“Invite her to dinner.”

“You want me to ask her to dinner?” Draco asked slowly, his disbelief written clearly on his face. He slowly leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “Mother, did you not listen to a single thing I was saying?”

“Do not take that tone with me, Draco. I can hear you just fine.” Narcissa rose from the tea table and waited for her son to join her, lightly taking his arm as he led her through the garden. “A quiet dinner in that shoe box you call a home will be a good starting place for the both of you. No outside interference, no bad memories attached, just the two of you together.”

Ignoring the insult towards his living conditions, Draco protested, “After everything that has happened, she won’t agree to it.”

“Who?”

“You know exactly who.”

“Say her name,” Narcissa said sternly. “If you have any hope of gaining her forgiveness and affections, you must be able to say her name.”

Draco swallowed thickly, eyes fixed on their feet as they walked. “Hermione,” he whispered. “Her name is Hermione.”

Narcissa stopped walking and gently grasped his chin to turn his face towards hers. When his eyes met hers, she smiled at him and stroked her thumb against his chin. “My sweet son. You have a heart that is so good and so precious; the woman you give it to will be receiving the greatest gift in the world. When you apologize, and you will have to apologize, do not forget your own worth. Admit you were wrong, but do not lose sight of incredible man you have become. Because that is who she should fall in love with. Not the boy who fought in a War that wasn’t his, not the man who hides behind paperwork and drinking, but the man who defended his home and his family with more honor than his father could ever dream of having.” She blinked back against the tears beginning to gather and whispered fiercely, “You are my son, and I will always be here for you.”

Draco cleared his throat and blinked back the tears that may or may not have been building behind his eyes.

“Now then,” Narcissa said without any signs of the emotional moment that had just passed between them. “Tell me what you plan on cooking for her.”

They walked slowly through the garden, talking about Draco’s sub par cooking abilities and the latest gossip amongst Narcissa’s friends. He realized he should have come to visit his mother sooner. She always had a way of calming the storm inside him, of helping him find the right perspective and logical solutions. He missed having her in England, but she had recovered so well in France that he didn’t dare ask her to return until she was ready.

When they found their way back to the veranda, Narcissa asked, “Do you plan on seeing Hermione today?”

“No,” he said and shook his head. “Not today. She needs space, that’s why she left. Let her have a few days to herself, and then I will go find her.”

Narcissa nodded approvingly. “There may be hope for you yet.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have started college classes again, and I'm already tired! Thankfully the work load isn't too heavy, so I should be able to stay on schedule with my posting. If any future chapters are running late I'll let you guys know. This chapter is a bit of a build up, but hopefully you guys will still like it. As always, please let me know what you think and I'll see you again next week!

Hermione was sitting on the edge of Miranda’s bed in her comfiest pair of pajamas and was painting her toe nails I vibrant shade of purple. There was quiet music playing, whatever girl band Miranda was currently obsessed with, and an array of snack foods scattered between them in the floor.

“So, let me get this straight.” Miranda had just sat through Hermione’s story of Draco’s failed attempts to win her affection, and she had taken it surprisingly well. Granted, Hermione had edited the story to avoid any magical elements. “This man spent a most likely ungodly amount of time training twelve doves to find you, carry an enormous heart made out of roses, and shower glitter on you. Which would be an impressive feat if his goal was to embarrass you, but he somehow thought this would get you to fall in love with him?”

“Yes, he apparently did.”

“And he thought this would still keep whatever love affair might develop between you under the radar. Which is necessary for reasons you would rather not explain.”

Hermione glanced up from her toes and said, “It’s complicated, Mo.”

Miranda was quiet for several moments. She was sitting upside down in her florescent green beanbag chair, so it was difficult for Hermione to tell what she was thinking. Miranda squinted her eyes and asked, “Did it work?”

“Of course it didn’t work,” Hermione exclaimed indignantly. She cursed quietly and tried to wipe away the nail polish she had gotten on her toe. “It was the most absurd display of stupidity I had ever seen.”

“No doubt,” Miranda agreed, trying to nod her head while still sitting upside down. It was no easy feat but she considered it a victory that she only hit her head on the floor twice. “You have to admit that the attention was probably nice, though.”

A pillow was immediately lobbed at Miranda’s head. “It was not! I was mortified,” Hermione said despite the blush working its way onto her cheeks. “There were so many important politicians there, people I respect. I can’t show my face there any time soon.” Lost in thought about her potentially damaged reputation, Hermione barely managed to dodge the returned pillow.

“At least he wasn’t there,” Miranda said to try and comfort her clearly distressed friend. “Now the tabloids can only speculate who it was without any real proof. It’ll blow over fairly quickly, I’m sure.”

“I certainly hope so,” Hermione mumbled, but the image of Draco standing in the atrium doorway still lingered in her mind. She blew gently on her now bright purple toenails, eyes fixed on the light gray carpet beyond as though it could offer any sort of wisdom or answers. “I should have known he wouldn’t take this seriously. I should have known better.”

“Since when was romance supposed to be serious?” Miranda sat up properly in the beanbag and frowned at Hermione. “Romance is supposed to be fun and exciting.”

“Oh, what would you know?”

“A whole lot, actually,” Miranda replied haughtily. “I know enough to know that you can’t expect the bloke to read your mind.”

Hermione glared at her. “He could have asked.”

“You could have told him.”

Hermione groaned and fell back onto the bed. The ceiling offered even fewer answers than the carpet. “I used to hate him, you know. Hated everything he was and everything he stood for.”

“I know,” Miranda said softly. “He was the one who bullied you, right?”

“Exactly, so he is the last person I should consider dating.” Hermione sighed and threw an arm over her eyes. This was the endless loop her mind kept running through: hating Draco Malfoy or dating Draco Malfoy. She weighed the pros and cons, consider every angle and every opinion, and still had no answer to what she should do. “I shouldn’t have given him the chance.”

“But you did.” Miranda joined Hermione on the bed and waited for her to remove her arm from her face. When Hermione finally turned to look at her, Miranda smiled sweetly at her. “So why did you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” Miranda said firmly. “You are Hermione Granger. You know everything.”

Hermione stared at her friend for a long moment. Miranda had been the first person she saw when she stepped into White Wolf Designs. She had been depressed and buried under the weight of her grief, and Miranda had been the only person not to treat her like she was fragile. She didn’t treat her like a hero or the savior’s best friend or the brightest witch. Miranda treated her like a woman who needed a friend, and maybe a few breakdown induced tattoos. Miranda had helped pull her from the darkness.

“Thank you,” Hermione whispered. Her throat felt tight, no doubt from the tears she still refused to cry. “I don’t say it enough, but thank you.”

“What for?” Miranda bumped her shoulder against Hermione’s and grinned. “For my endless supply of sage wisdom or my bounty of snack foods?”

“For your friendship, smartarse.”

“Thank you for letting me be your friend.”

They spent the rest of the day avoiding any talk about men or relationships. Jacob was banished to the tattoo shop below Miranda’s apartment, and the women enjoyed a afternoon of romantic comedies and absurd amounts of junk food. When the sun finally began setting, Miranda called an end to their stay-cation. She had a date to get to, and after getting Hermione’s advice on her outfit, she danced out the front door. Hermione changed into a soft sweater and leggings before making her way downstairs and into White Wolf Designs’ front office.

Hermione dug around behind the desk and found a book of her old designs. She leaned against the front desk, humming quietly to herself, and began to flip through her old portfolio and pictures of her work. Smiling fondly, she marveled at how far she had come since her apprenticeship.

“What are you smiling at?”

Hermione glanced up from the binder and felt her smile grow wider. “I’m amazed, that’s all.”

Jacob leaned against the opposite side of the desk and looked down at the pages she had open. He was heartbreakingly handsome. Sharp cheekbones dusted in a 5 o’clock shadow and framing his dark green eyes. He had cut his hair since the last time she had seen him, and his brown locks were shaved close on the side and left slightly longer at the top. The way he was leaned against the desk emphasized his already defined arm muscles and made his frame look even bigger than usual.

“Amazed?” He flipped the page, oblivious to Hermione’s gaze. “Amazed at how terrible you were?”

Hermione snorted and flicked his arm. “Amazed at how much better I am than you.”

Jacob glanced up from the book and quirked an eyebrow at her. “Now, now. Don’t forget who taught you everything you know.” He poked her forehead and swiped the book from the desk.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione drawled, “How can I forget when you remind me every chance you get?”

Whatever witty retort Jacob had ready was cut off by the resident Hurricane Miranda that came blowing into the shop. “Hermione, darling, love, my dear!”

Hermione groaned loudly and hid her face in her hands. “Mo…” She drew out the name with a hint of warning in her voice. “Using more than one pet name usually means you want something, and it is usually followed by regret or a hangover. Or both. I’ll go ahead and say no just to be safe.” She lifted her face from her hands and came face to face with a pouting Miranda.

Lip jutted out dramatically and large, brown eyes shining with fake tears, Miranda begged, “Hermione, sweetie, lovebug, this is the best idea I have ever had in the history of forever, and I promise you won’t regret it or be hungover.”

Jacob chuckled quietly. He had watched the women have nearly this same conversation once a week during Hermione’s apprenticeship, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Miranda would get her way. Hermione could never resist the pout. Hermione glared at him when she heard him laughing and he shrugged.

“What’s this incredibly wonderful idea of yours?”

The smile that quickly took over Miranda’s face was full of too much mischief. “I have been thinking about what your ‘I need a vacation from men,’ crazy, unplanned body art should be, and I have the best idea.”

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione argue, “Miranda, just because I’ve come back for a visit does not mean I need new art. I have enough at the moment, I think, and no one said anything about a vacation from men.” She could feel Jacob’s confused expression pointed at the back of her head, but she ignored it in the face of more pressing issues. She was determined to stand her ground this time.

Miranda rolled her eyes. “Sure you do.” She skipped behind the desk Hermione was still leaned against and pulled out the binder of information on the different piercings they offered. Jacob stepped up behind them so he could look over their shoulders, and Hermione held her breath as she waited for Miranda to explain. Pages flipped rapidly as the petite woman searched for the specific page that held Hermione’s supposed newest addition to the mosaic her body had turned into.

“Aha!” Miranda smacked her hand excitedly at the picture she had been looking for.

Hermione’s eyebrows damn near shot up into her hairline. “A bellybutton piercing,” she demanded. Her tone betrayed her desire to turn down the idea and caused Miranda to launch into what was no doubt going to be a long-winded and very quickly spoken explanation on why she thought this was the perfect piercing for Hermione to get.

Miranda got as far as, “Okay, hear me out,” before Hermione stopped her with a raised hand. She eyed the pictures for a few moments before a begrudging smile began to work its way across her cheeks. “You know, Mo, this may be the first good idea you’ve had in a long while.”

Miranda ignored the insult in favor of bouncing up and down and squealing excitedly. “Oh, Hermione, this is going to look so good! Especially in the summer when you put on a bikini. Those boys will all swoon.” She threw her hand up across her forehead and mimed just how dramatically the boys would apparently swoon which sent Hermione into a fit of laughter.

“Alright, you pick out the jewelry while Jacob and I prep the work room.” Hermione barely had time to finish her sentence before Miranda snatched the book and ran to the store room behind the front desk to search for the perfect belly button ring.

Having lost her diversion, Hermione faced Jacob and immediately said, “Before you ask, it’s not a big deal. I reconnected with a bloke I knew from school, and then he stood me up for dinner and embarrassed me in a rather public setting. End of story.” She watched the emotions flicker through Jacob’s forest green eyes. He squinted at her slightly. “Okay,” she relented, “maybe I’m a little upset about it.” She hesitated as the mental image of all the snack food they had just devoured upstairs flashed through her mind. “Maybe a bit more than a little upset.”

His eyes hardened, and his brow furrowed.

“No,” she said and held her hands up in a placative gesture. “There’s no reason for you to get involved. I handled it. It’s over and done with. No more second chances.”

Her crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow.

Hermione rolled her eyes in return and grumbled, “I’m not unloading all my emotional baggage on you, Jacob. That’s not why I’m here.”

Jacob rested a heavy hand on her shoulder and squeezed it lightly in a move that gave her immediate comfort. Leveling her with a serious expression, he said, “You are always welcome in my shop. You are family, Hermione, never feel like you’re unloading emotions or any such nonsense. As far as that boy is concerned, it is entirely up to you how you move forward from her. Everyone deserves a second chance, Hermione, but sometimes they need new beginnings instead. A chance to leave the past in the past and completely start over. If you think he deserves that, then allow yourselves to try again without allowing history or past mistakes to get in the way. But if you don’t think he deserves it, then you don’t have to give it to him. You owe him nothing. It’s up to you who you allow in your life, and you decide how long they stay.” Smiling softly down at her, he ruffled her hair. “Now step into my office, young padawan. We have an ‘I’m taking a vacation from men’ piercing to prepare for.”

Unfortunately, the belly button piercing would have to wait because at that moment one of Jacob’s customers came in needing an emergency tattoo cover up. Hermione sat back and amused herself with listening to Jacob’s ‘This is why I should be the only one doing your tattoos’ speech. When they disappeared into one of the adjacent rooms, Hermione went back upstairs to the apartment and wrote a letter to Ginny and Luna to ask how her shop was doing. She would have to wait until after the sun set to send it so her owl wouldn’t be spotted by any muggles.

She had decided to leave the shop in their, hopefully, capable hands for the next few days. All of her appointments had been moved to future dates, and she kept telling herself she deserved the vacation. Hell, she needed the vacation. And two days later, she felt incredible. The sun rose, and Hermione stretched lazily as she woke. Not hurried. Not stressed.

There was a pep in her step as she made her way down into the shop after breakfast. All day yesterday had been spent bouncing around town with Miranda, but she had been unsuccessful in fully distracting her from the idea of a belly button piercing. Which was why, before White Wolf Designs opened for the day, she and Jacob would be setting up for her ‘I had a wonderful vacation from men’ piercing.

Hermione was arguing with Miranda over the color of the jewelry when the doorbell sounded through the shop. Both women looked at the front door in confusion, and even Jacob poked his head out of a work room to frown at the door. It was far too early for customers.

Miranda bounced over to the door, her sunshine bright smile already dancing on her cheeks. She opened the door, and Hermione found herself looking at a shock of white blond hair and grey eyes.

—..—

Draco lasted all of two days before his patience ran out.

He had busied himself with work, gone to see if Potter had any updates on his investigation into Lucius, and gotten black out drunk with Blaise and Theo. Nevertheless, he woke up before the sun had fully risen on Tuesday morning and got dressed with the intention of finding Hermione.

Various apologies played through his mind, but nothing sounded good enough. Having learned his lesson, Draco decided to visit his mother rather than his friends and ask for her advice. The horizon had barely begun to turn pink, but he knew Narcissa would be awake. She was up before dawn almost every morning so she could tend to her plants and watch the sunrise. She claimed it was one of the few pleasures she had in life, but he knew it was because of the nightmares.

He apparated to the French villa and made his way directly to the back veranda. Narcissa was sat at the tea table with a cup of tea before her and a small watering can at her feet. Despite the ability to do it magically or even have a house elf perform the menial task, his mother had always preferred to water her plants by hand.

“Good morning, Mother.”

Narcissa smiled up at him and held her hand out to him. “Good morning, darling.”

He kissed her knuckles gently and helped her rise from her seat. “I apologize for interrupting your morning ritual, but I was hoping to ask for your advice.”

“You’re going to visit Hermione,” she said as she picked up her watering can and looped her hand through his arm. “I’m surprised you came to me rather than asking your friends to help you.”

“I think I’ve learned my lesson.”

“We can hope.”

They wove through her garden, stopping every so often so Narcissa could water her plants, and watched the horizon slowly change to soft shades of pink, orange, and yellow. Despite having come to ask for her advice, Draco quickly lost himself in his thoughts as they walked. He hated apologizing, had never been very good at it growing up and resented having to humble himself to people. Hated admitting he was wrong.

What would he even say to her, he thought with a frown. He was sorry that his friends were complete idiots lacking any form of decorum, forethought, or intelligence? He was sorry that he had been stupid enough to listen to them. That he had gotten so caught up in the idea of seducing some witch that he had forgotten this was all for Hermione Granger. Not some witch, some one night stand whose name he would forget by morning. Not one of Pansy’s conquests or Blaise’s long line of eligible witches. He had royally botched his second chance with her, potentially his only second chance with her because he couldn’t forget that he stood her up the first time.

The crease of his brow deepened with each anxiety-fueled second until he was fully glaring at the plants in front of him.

“Draco, darling, I know you dislike humbling yourself, but you are scaring my flowers.”

Sure enough, Narcissa’s beautiful rosemary blossoms were quivering and hiding behind their leaves. Draco whispered a soft apology as his mother watered them and then continued down the path with her, this time with a less threatening and slightly more thoughtful expression on his face. It wouldn’t do to frighten Mother’s plants; she had taken his broom from him for an entire month the last time he had frightened her roses at the Manor. He hadn’t meant to crash his broom into the middle of their bush, but Narcissa refused to give it back until he had apologized. Sincerely. To the flowers. His swallowed pride had hurt worse than the countless thorns he had received for his troubles.

But apologizing to Hermione would be much more difficult than apologizing to roses.

“Be honest,” Narcissa said quietly.

Draco realized he had stopped walking and was staring at a rose bush in front of them. Being honest was not his strong suit, not when it came to people outside of his circle. “What do I say?”

“That you made a mistake. That you allowed your friends’ advice to cloud your judgment, and you lost sight of what mattered.” Narcissa smiled at him and patted his cheek gently. “Remind her why she gave you a second chance the first time.”

“It can’t be that easy.”

“It can be, if you let it.”

Draco sighed and wearily rubbed a hand against his forehead. “What if she turns me away?” He had refused to voice his fears before, but they were bubbling out of him before he could stop them. “What if she doesn’t forgive me? What if she realizes the truth, that she deserves so much better than me?” He choked on the last few words and felt the burn of tears behind his eyes. Salazar save him, what was this witch doing to him?

“Draco, surely you don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he whispered hoarsely. “I was so cruel to her. I put her through hell for seven years, and now I expect things to change because of some cruel twist of fate? Can she truly believe that I buried my appreciation and admiration under the brainwashing of my father?”

“Yes,” Narcissa said simply. “Is that so hard for you to believe?”

Draco was more concerned with what Hermione would believe.

“People change, Draco. Even people as stubborn and bullheaded as you. Morgana knows, after going through that war, none of you are the same children as before. When you look at her, you can no longer see your old classmate. Look at her and see a young witch who has caught your attention. One who you are trying to convince to join you for dinner and explore a romantic future with. Despite your friends’ best efforts to the contrary,” she added with a sly smile.

Draco returned her smile and nodded. “As always, Mother, you are right.” His foot began tapping anxiously against the pathway which brought a smile to his mother’s face.

“Go,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I can find my way back on my own.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Draco kissed his mother on the cheek and apparated away to the muggle street Luna had taken him to a few days ago. Looking at the tattoo shop, Draco felt an echo of the fear he felt when he looked at Azkaban. As though, if he wasn’t careful, this place might be the end of him.

Shaking his head at his own absurdity, Draco squared his shoulder and crossed the street.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday, lovelies! This is a bit of a long chapter because I couldn't find a good spot to cut it off and I was really exciting for the ending! We're setting up for one of my favorite chapters which should be next weeks, so I'll see you all on Thursday with some more Dramione goodness :)
> 
> Oh also! If, hypothetically, there was a BFP pinterest board and I had a writer's twitter and all that nonsense, would any of you want those? Lemme know!

Draco stopped in the middle of the street and felt entirely unimpressed. Tucked between a bar and a flower shop, of all things, the front of the shop was barely wide enough to hold one window and one door, and it looked entirely forgettable. The silhouette of a howling wolf head made of weathered iron hung over the stoop, the only indication of what lay inside. The small glass window was brimming with a display of sunflowers which prevented him from seeing the interior of the shop, but the wooden door, though faded and blending into the brick building, was inviting nonetheless.

He read through the shop hours displayed on the door countless times as he tried to calm his nerves. There was no way to predict how Hermione would react to seeing him, and he hated unknown situations. His stomach clenched tightly at the remind of how much he must have hurt her. Her face, the look of horror and pain when he had stepped into that atrium… Rolling his tense shoulders, Draco huffed. He wasn’t going to get any closer to gaining her forgiveness if he spent the entire morning outside the shop. He had faced Death Eaters, giants, werewolves, and dementors. Surely he had the balls to knock on a damned door.

Before his inner voice that sounded far too much like his mother could lecture him about bravery, Draco stepped up to the door and knocked twice.

The door flew open before he had the chance to fully pull his hand away. He had to tilt his head down to see the woman who had opened the door, she was rather short compared to him. Her curly dark hair formed a wild halo about her head, and the vibrant green top she wore was nearly as blinding as her smile.

"Hullo, stranger! Welcome to White Wolf Designs. I'm Miranda. What can I do for you today?" 

Mind spinning at her sudden appearance and how quickly she spoke, Draco tried to process what this woman had said. 

Mistaking his silence for nerves, Mo smile gained a gentler light. "Is this your first time? Nothing to be worried about, sweetie, everyone gets nervous the first time around, but Jacob's a sweetheart and will take great care of you."

Draco shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment, trying his best to focus on what she had said. Miranda seemed to think he was a customer. "No, ma'am, I'm not. I've actually come to see a friend of mine, though I'm not sure if she's here today or not."

Something in her face changed almost imperceptibly as Mo heard his last sentence. Almost as if her smile took on a hardened edge to it. "She?" she asked.

Draco eyed the small woman. Though she most likely would have a hard time even reaching his shoulder, something about her struck a small amount of anxiety in him. "Yes," he spoke carefully, watching for further reactions from her. "Her name is Hermione."

“Ah.” Miranda’s smile all but disappeared as she stepped back from the doorway and gestured him inside. “You can wait in here while I fetch her.”

He tried to ignore the icy notes in her voice. It was a safe assumption that Hermione had told this muggle at least enough for her to resent his being here. Draco made his way into the shop and stood only a few steps away from the door. It wasn’t because he needed the option of escape, he told himself. He was just too anxious to sit down.

Miranda vanished through a door behind the front desk, and Draco took the opportunity to examine the shop.

He blinked. And then blinked again.

Muggles weren't capable of magic, but had he been asked Draco would have sworn an expansion charm had been placed on the interior of the tattoo shop. From the outside he would have guessed the shop was the size of a coat closet, and that was being generous, but the room he was standing in was spacious and welcoming. Light bulbs, much like the ones he had seen in Muggle Studies, hung from the ceiling and bathed the room in a warm, yellow light. You could hardly see the crimson color donning the walls due to the multitude of tattoo designs that were framed and hung haphazardly across every available wall space. The eclectically mismatched furniture and various potted plants made it feel more like someone's home rather than a professional work environment.

He was about to investigate one of the various closed doors when he heard the sound of his name. His eyes snapped to the right side of the room where a staircase he hadn’t seen was tucked against the wall. Hermione stood on one of the last few steps, her hand poised on the railing and confusion knitting her brow into a small frown.

She looked beautiful.

Her long brown curls were gathered at the top of her head in a pile, in a way that he had seen her wear it so many times in the library at Hogwarts. She was swathed in a forest green sweater so large it covered her hands, fell to just above her knees, and revealed the majority of her right shoulder. Tight black pants peaked out form underneath them. She was barefoot and looked as though she had just rolled out of bed.

All the things he had planned to say vanished from his mind, and he could do nothing but stare at her.

“Draco?”

“I’m so sorry,” he blurted out. His words were rushed and breathless. “I came to apologize. I wanted to give you some space, but I…” He swallowed thickly, eyes still not willing to look anywhere but at her. “I’m so sorry.”

Her guarded expression melted somewhat, and a sadness crept into her brown eyes that made his heart ache. He was the cause of that sadness, he was sure of it. “What are you sorry for?” Her voice was soft, but it carried through the empty room.

“Everything.” He hesitantly stepped up to the bottom of the stairs and said, “All of it, Hermione. Standing you up for dinner, not explaining why. I should have asked you about the flowers and the chocolates. And, sweet Salazar, those doves were Blaise’s idea. I should have stopped him —”

“But you didn’t.” She tilted her head to the side, as though weighing the truth in his apology. “You didn’t ask me what I wanted, what I liked. You listened to your friends and treated me like any other forgettable witch. I don’t want to be forgettable, Draco.”

He shook his head emphatically. “You couldn’t be forgettable if you tried.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at him and descended the rest of the steps to stand beside him.

“Can I,” he tried to ask but was cut off by the surprisingly boisterous muggle woman from before.

“Hermione, Jacob’s ready for you in room two!” Miranda came bouncing around the corner and grinned at Hermione while pointedly ignoring Draco. “He got everything set up while you were talking.”

Hermione returned her smile. “I’ll be right there.” She returned her gaze to Draco and said, “I have an appointment with my mentor, Jacob. If you wouldn’t mind staying, I would like to continue our conversation.”

The idea of watching Hermione get a tattoo made Draco’s mouth run dry, and he found himself nodding in agreement before he could really think it through.

Hermione smiled at him, and whatever came next was well worth it. “We’ll be through that room there,” she said and pointed to a door across the room. “We can talk while Jacob works.”

She crossed the room towards a different door, and Draco moved to follow but was intercepted by Miranda.

"I know what you did, and I know what she's been through. If you hurt her again, I'll be forced to get involved. Don't make me get involved, Draco." All of this was said with the most cheerful smile, but the threat in her voice caused chills to dance down Draco's spine. Muggle or not, he had no doubt she was capable of things that would give even him nightmares. Nodding to show he understood, Draco quickly entered the work room and closed the door behind him.

Draco glanced around the room to take in his surroundings and hopefully distract himself from the tiny demon in the other room. He could feel her glaring holes into the door behind him. The workroom was set up similarly to Hermione’s back at Virago. Posters of rules and regulations as well as more tattoo designs littered the walls of the room and hid the peeling, faded paint beneath them. A plush leather chair with a stool sat next to it and took up the majority of the space, but what caught Draco’s eyes was the small table next to the stool.

The shine of metal brought him closer and then filled him with confusion. Small metal tools, at least he assumed they were tools, were neatly organized into rows across the table’s surface. Some had loops at the end while others had small blades; all of them baffled Draco as to what their purpose could possibly be. Before he could give into the urge to pick them up and examine them, the workroom door clicked open.

Hermione walked in and was followed by a tall man Draco hadn’t seen before. He had close-cut brown hair and tanned skin, built like a Beater and taking up the entire doorway with his large frame. Draco tried not to let his hackles rise. He wasn’t the jealous or territorial type.

Draco watched as Hermione and this other man moved quietly around the room and got ready for whatever Hermione’s appointment would entail. He stepped back out of their way and leaned against the wall farthest away from the chair and table of mystery equipment.

“This is Jacob,” Hermione said suddenly as she gestured to the other man in the room.

Jacob gave Draco a nod in greeting and began fiddling with what appeared to be clear gloves. Rather than say hello to Hermione’s apparent mentor, Draco opened his mouth to comment on the uselessness of clear gloves. The words died in his mouth when he was distracted by a swift movement from Hermione’s direction.

He glanced over and felt his heart leap into his throat. Hermione had removed the strip of fabric that had held her untamed curls away from her face and was fashioning it around the clump of shirt she had made at her side. Her shirt now rode up just under her breasts and exposed the expanse of her stomach as she sat down on the chair in the middle of the room.

Swiftly throwing up his occlumency shields to try and keep his expression neutral, Draco diverted his attention begrudgingly to Jacob as he started selecting tools from the table next to him. He took a deep breath in through his nose, and let it out slowly through his mouth. Hermione was going to be the death of him.

Draco regained his control and looked back towards Hermione just in time to see Jacob stick a metal bar through the skin he had pinched above her belly button. He swung his horrified gaze to Hermione’s face, expecting her to scream or curse at Jacob. His horror mounted further when he found only an expression of mild discomfort on her features. His eyes darted back and forth between her face and her mutilated stomach before he finally shouted, “What the bloody hell did you just do?”

Jacob looked up at him with a rather bland expression. “I gave her a piercing.” He returned to his work, replacing the metal stick - a torture device, Draco decided - with a tiny silver bar. On the end of the bar sat a small sapphire.

Had Draco not been distracted by the obvious abuse to Hermione’s person, he would’ve admired the way the blue of the gen offset the smooth expanse of her deep bronze skin. Instead, he exclaimed, “You just stabbed her in the stomach!”

Hermione grinned in amusement at Draco’s reaction and said, “No, Draco. He pierced my stomach. It’s a type of body art just like a tattoo. It’s very common in the muggle world.”

“People do this willingly?” Draco darted his gaze between Hermione, Jacob, and Hermione’s stomach, his voice full of disbelief.

She tried to stifle her giggles so Jacob could finish cleaning her piercing. “It doesn’t hurt that much, Draco. It looks worse than it is.”

“Yeah, mate,” Jacob added from his position bent over Hermione’s stomach. “I’ve gotten a few myself that were worse than this, and I didn’t so much as flinch.”

Draco went very still. This muggle had been stabbed multiple times, apparently on purpose, and hadn’t flinched. Hermione made sense. Dear Merlin, she had been through a war, of course she wouldn’t flinch. But a muggle? It sounded like a challenge, and Draco was never one to back down. He could hear his inner voice, which sounded far too much like his mother, telling him this was foolish, but he ignored it.

Hermione must have seen the look on his face because she very quickly said, “But they aren’t something you want to get on a whim because they scar and can be quite permanent.”

Draco hummed to acknowledge he had hear what she said, but he didn’t take his eyes off of Jacob.

“Well sure,” Jacob said in agreement, still not looking up from Hermione’s stomach. “That’s why you start with something small like the earlobe. That’s what just about everyone gets done first.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed at the insinuation that he was anything like everyone else, anything like all the other muggles this ape knew. “What else do people get?”

Hermione sighed. “Draco, no.”

“You could get a lip piercing.” The corner of Jacob’s lip twitched, right near the small silver ball that Draco assumed was his own piercing. “That one actually hurts a little.”

“Then that’s what I want.”

Hermione shooed Jacob’s hands away from her stomach and sat up straight in the chair. “Draco, did you not hear a single word I said about not rushing into things?”

Draco finally looked at her and arched a single, elegant brow. “Hermione, I have an entire arm covered in tattoos. I think I’m allowed to get stabbed on a whim now.”

The voice in his head that was yelling at him for being so reckless was immediately silenced by Hermione’s laugh. A small smirk made its way onto his mouth as Draco slide his gaze over to Jacob. The ever stoic man remained impassive, and had Draco not been an aristocrat he might have huffed in annoyance.

Hermione rose gracefully from the seat and, much to Draco's disappointment, removed the tie holding her shirt away from her stomaching allowing the fabric to recover her skin. She absentmindedly ran her fingers through the mass of untamed curls and gathered them in a ball on the top of her head. Draco watched in fascination as she wound the fabric around the ball of hair multiple times before letting it go. His eyes widened when her hair stayed on top of her head. Squinting and tilting his head slightly, Draco wondered at the possible magical properties the tie must possess. Perhaps a sticking charm?

Completely oblivious to the baffled blond next to her, Hermione busied herself with sanitizing the equipment and the work station she'd be using. "Since this is your first piercing," her voice finally drew Draco's attention away from her hair. "I'd suggest we do a simple hoop piercing."

Draco nodded along to what she said; however, internally he was scrambling to remember if she'd mentioned different types of piercings. Sure he knew you could get them in different places, but different types? What could she mean by that? He glanced at Jacob and quickly masked his confusion behind a confident expression. Draco swore he saw the corner of Jacob's mouth twitch in amusement, the bastard. Choosing to ignore the man, Draco instead watched Hermione as she bustled about the small room gathering her supplies and muttering quietly to herself.

"Well, the shop opens in a few minutes, so I'll leave you two to your fun." Jacob patted Hermione on the shoulder as he moved to the door. "It was nice meeting you, Darren."

Draco whipped his head around to look at Jacob, but the man was already closing the door behind himself. "Darren?" Draco muttered skeptically. "That's not even close to my name." Assuming the man was simply lacking in intelligence, Draco missed the amused roll of Hermione's eyes.

"Alright, Draco, if you'll take a seat," Hermione said and gestured to the black seat she had previously occupied. "We can go ahead and get started."

"How long does this process usually take?" Draco asked as he made himself comfortable. Well, as comfortable as one can be in what was clearly an abused leather chair. Perhaps muggles didn't know that proper method for caring for leather? Draco shook his head at the thought.

"Oh, not too long."

Draco tried not to frown at her vague answer. Any frustration he felt immediately leaked from his body when he felt her take hold of his lip. Sure, she was wearing those silly clear gloves, but her hand on his mouth and face so close to his own was enough to knock the next breath out of his chest. He closed his eyes to try and regain his composure and thus missed the moment Hermione stuck the piercing needle through his lower lip.

"Holy mother of Merlin what the bloody fucking hell, Hermione?!"

"No don't move!"

Draco swatted her away with one hand and moved the other to protect his mouth. The expression of absolute betrayal on his face sent Hermione doubled over into a fit of laughter as the poor blonde clutched his assaulted lip. “Why are you laughing?” he bellowed.

He gazed down at the wheezing girl leaned against his chair and immediately glared at the top of her curls. Of course she found amusement in his pain, a witch had handled getting stabbed better than he had. Thank Merlin Jacob hadn't been in the room, or Draco would have had to apparate out, change his name, and live off the coast of Norway for the remainder of his life. The shame would have been too great to bear, but seeing as it was Hermione he didn't mind adding, "Why the bloody fuck would you have that done willingly? And to your stomach of all places? Have you taken complete leave of your senses? Because I haven't! I can sense every amount of pain that damned torture device caused!"

After finally regaining her breathing and wiping at her eyes, Hermione pulled herself upright. Her face was flushed and her eyes shone with tears from laughing so hard. “Draco,” she gasped as she choked down another laugh, “it doesn’t hurt that bad. There’s no need to be so dramatic.”

“Doesn’t hurt that - Dramatic?” He sputtered indignantly and pointed an accusing finger at her. “Hermione, you shoved a hole through my lip!”

Hermione grinned and shook her head. “Come on, you’ve been through worse.”

Draco’s lips pulled up into a sneer, but there was no fire behind it. “Regardless of what I have been through, it does not change the fact that you just ruined my perfectly handsome face.”

“But not your humility, I see.” She pushed against his chest to get him to lean back against the chair and said, “Just let me finish, and then you can complain.”

He tried not to look scared, but he knew his face was a few shades paler when he asked, “You’re not done yet?”

Hermione tried not to laugh because she knew how startling a first piercing could be. Considering Draco was knew to the idea of piercings in general, she put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and said, “The worst of it is over.” She picked up the lip ring from the tool tray and waved it in his face.

The object was too close to his eyes for him to make out what it was, so he waited for her explanation and resisted the urge to look at it cross-eyed.

“I can’t just leave the needle in your lip, Draco. I have to put the ring through it.”

Eying her warily, Draco slowly leaned back in the seat. “Very well then, do as you must.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him and quickly exchanged the needle for the ring before he could throw another fit. Sitting back to admire her handy work, Hermione had to admit that he looked good. “Personally, I think it’s a good addition.”

Still glaring, Draco allowed himself a moment to inwardly preen at her compliment. He gently brushed his fingers against his lip to feel the piercing. The metal felt strange and out of place. “Was it worth the pain, is the question?”

Hermione moved to sit on the chair beside his legs, her thigh brushing against his in a way that he was all too aware of. She leaned in close and gazed intently at the thin, silver hoop looped through the left side of his lower lip. The look in her eyes caused Draco to swallow thickly. She brushed her thumb against his chin, just below the piercing, and hummed. “Yes, I’d say it was definitely worth it.”

Impulse was a luxury very few Slytherins had the pleasure of experiencing, the expectations from their parents and the need to have a flawless reputation forced them to carefully measure every decision. Which was why the impulse that had seized him sang through his veins and caused his heart to beat nearly painfully in his chest. He sank his fingers into her hair, sent a silent prayer to Merlin, and then kissed her. He kissed her with every conflicting emotion that had been overwhelming him. He kissed for forgiveness, he kissed an apology, and he kissed to erase all the years of rivalry. The sting of pressure on his new piercing was a distant echo compared to the satisfaction rushing through him.

Draco reluctantly pulled away from the kiss and gazed at the beautiful witch before him. Hermione’s eyes were wide, her mouth slightly parted. All bravado had escaped her. She blinked once, and a nervousness began to settle through him. She blinked again, and Draco swore his heart was about to leap up into his throat and strangle him. He made to pull his fingers from her hair and attempt to leave with at least some of his confidence intact, but he was stopped by the smile that began to pull at the corners of her mouth.

Her eyes focused on his, and she grabbed a fist full of shirt. “It’s about damn time.”

Whatever witty retort he had died on his tongue when Hermione pulled him towards her for a second kiss. He was completely taken in by every minute detail of her. The softness of her hair between his fingers, the feeling of her lips pressed against his, the taste of mint; it enveloped him and filled his senses. He found himself releasing a quiet sigh of contentment against her lips as all of the inner turmoil began to melt away.

The moment was shattered by the loud thud of the door being thrown open and hitting the wall behind it.

“Can I see it?” Miranda shouted as she burst through the room and shoved her face inches away from Draco’s.

Draco jerked back at the sudden intrusion of his personal space and whacked his head against the headrest of the chair. Grunting at the impact, Draco went on the defensive, one hand clutching the back of his head and the other moving to his pocket for his wand.

Hermione, immediately realizing the reaction Draco would have to the sudden chaos, grabbed Miranda and pulled her back from the startled blonde. “Miranda, you can’t just barge in like that.” She turned her friend around to face her, giving Draco the opportunity to put his wand away, and glared reproachfully.

Miranda’s smile was slightly apologetic as she shrugged. “Sorry, Hermione. You know how my enthusiasm gets the best of me. Oh, did you get the —” Miranda grabbed the front of Hermione’s shirt and pulled it up to expose her new piercing.

“That’s the understatement of the century.” Jacob strolled into the room to retrieve Miranda, who was fighting with Hermione over the hem of her shirt. “I told you to wait until Hermione was finished.”

Miranda rolled her eyes at Jacob, pouted, and released Hermione’s shirt. “Yeah, but piercings never take that long, and I wanted to see what it looked like.” Eyes lighting at the thought, she quickly turned to look at Draco and inspect his piercing, this time from an acceptable distance. “It looks really good, Dan! I like the simplicity of it; the silver looks good with your skin tone.”

“Draco,” he said to correct her. His frustration was mounting with each person that entered the room. “But thank you. Hermione did a brilliant job.” His eyes slid towards Hermione, and he began to calculate how quickly he could get her alone again.

Hermione flashed him a smile. “Draco was a good sport. He hardly even flinched,” she added with a wink.

Jacob coughed, but it sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Thought I heard a ruckus earlier, but that must have been from outside.”

Draco remained stone-faced as he stared Jacob down. Refusing to admit that the lip piercing had hurt, Draco pushed himself up from the seat to stand. He dusted off the front of his shirt, and felt his mask of confidence slip back into place. “It was just a prick, nothing more. Certainly nothing to make a fuss about.” He thought he heard a snort of laughter from Hermione’s direction, but he kept his eyes trained on Jacob. The man could have been a Slytherin had he any magic in him, his expressionless mask was nearly impressive.

Nearly.

Miranda bounced on the balls of her feet, glanced between the two men, and huffed loudly. “If you two are done posturing and puffing your chests, Jacob has a client waiting.” Curiosity abated, she winked at Hermione and left the room. Jacob quietly followed her and shut the door behind him.

Jacob and Miranda entered the quiet waiting room and made their way back over to the front desk. Glancing around the noticeably empty parlor, Jacob said wryly, “Man, I really am just swamped with clients, Mo.”

Miranda rolled her eyes at him. “Please, you didn’t actually buy that. I was just giving us a clean exit.” She leaned against the counter and began to absentmindedly flip through a magazine. “I figured Hermione would prefer we weren’t present for their much needed conversation.”

"Conversation?" Jacob leaned against the counter beside her and tugged one of her curls. "She's going to put the man through the ringer."

Huffing a breath to blow the loosened curl out of her face, Miranda argued, "And you think he doesn't deserve it after everything he's done?"

"He was pretty dreadful when they were young."

Miranda snorted and turned another page. "What an understatement. He was a beast of a boy when they were in school and nearly as horrible when they left."

"Some could argue that the circumstances weren't exactly in his favor."

"Are you defending him?"

"Of course not." Jacob stole her magazine and flipped through the pages. "However,” he said with a pointed look, “I wasn't there, so I can't cast judgment on a man I hardly know."

Miranda grumbled, "Maybe, but that doesn't mean I have to like him."

Jacob chuckled and ruffled her hair. "Well, of course not. Mo likes who Mo likes."

She scowled harder and threw her arms over her head to protect her hair. "Damn straight." Arms still crossed over her mane of curls, Miranda paused for a second and looked thoughtfully into space. "I may not like him, but if Hermione feels he's worth the effort, perhaps Draco Malfoy has a chance at redemption after all."

After Miranda and Jacob had left, Hermione and Draco sat in a somewhat uncomfortable silence. Draco wanted to pull her back into the chair and pick up where they left off, but the atmosphere between them had changed. He poked at his new piercing with his tongue and considered whether or not he needed to apologize once more.

“You did well,” Hermione said. She was avoiding his eyes while cleaning up the tools she had used. “I wasn’t expecting you visit today, let alone get a piercing.”

Her tone of voice wasn’t hostile, but there was a note of disappointment there that he couldn’t ignore. Despite the kiss and the banter, she was still hurt from the humiliation she had been put through, and she had every right to be.

“I am truly sorry for everything that happened,” he said. He took a tentative step towards her, but stopped when she gave him a reproachful look. “You deserved better than the half-arsed effort I put in, and I want to make it up to you. Can I please have one more chance?”

Hermione hummed and walked up close to him. She took hold of the bottom edge of the shirt he was wearing and began fiddling with the fabric. Slowly looking up at him through her lashes, she whispered, “I asked you to woo me, not them.”

Draco felt every ounce of air in his lungs leave in a single breath. He cleared his throat and asked, “I know you did, and I made a fool of myself by listening to anyone but myself. Can I try to make it up to you?” He cringed at how gruff his voice sounded and hoped she didn’t notice.

Her smirk said otherwise. “That depends, is this idea yours or one of Blaise and Pansy’s?”

“Mine,” he said quickly. “All mine.” Which wasn’t entirely true, but it hadn’t come from one of his friends either.

She smiled at him and kept playing with his shirt, her fingertips brushing against his stomach had his heart beating loudly in his ears. “Then, yes, you most certainly can.”

Draco returned her smile, sending a quiet prayer of thanks to his mother for making him wait and apologize in person. “Join me for dinner.” It was supposed to be a request, but it came out a bit more forceful due to his excitement.

Hermione sighed, let go of his shirt, and took a half step away from him. “I don’t know, Draco. It didn’t go well the last time you invited me to dinner.”

He reached for her hips before Hermione could step away and pulled her close again. “I know, and that’s why we’ll eat at my flat. I can’t stand you up if you’re meeting me where I live.”

“I can’t argue with that,” she said. Hermione raised up on her tiptoes and quickly pecked him on the lips, just the barest brush of her lips against his. “Since I’ve never been to your flat, you’ll have to apparate me there. When do you want to pick me up?”

“Right now.”

Her laugh sent butterflies fluttering in his stomach. “You said dinner not breakfast.”

“I know.” He reached up to tuck a curl behind her ear and traced his fingertip down her jawline. Her lips parted slightly, and her eyes glowed. “I’m impatient to show you what it actually feels like to be chased by me.”

“Then wait.” She took hold of his wrist and pressed the palm of his hand against her cheek, her lips brushing against his inner wrist and making his breath hitch. “Let me help out at the shop and get ready for tonight. I want you to spend the entire day anticipating dinner together.”

He traced his thumb over her lower lip and grinned. “Evil witch.”

“You love it,” she said with a sly smile. “Now get going. The sooner you leave, the sooner I can make myself pretty.”

Draco gently grabbed her chin and tilted her face towards his. “You’re beautiful, dressed up or in a jumper two sizes too big.” He kissed her softly on the cheek and added, “If you want to ‘make yourself pretty,’ I certainly won’t stop you, but remember that you are perfection without even trying.”

Hermione blinked wide eyes up at him, a fierce blushing quickly painting her cheeks a lovely shade of red. He watched with interest as the blush slowly began to creep its way down her neck. Draco was beginning to wonder just how far that blush would go when Hermione pulled him in for another kiss.

The sound of the shop bell made Hermione pull away much sooner than Draco would have liked.

“You should probably go,” she said. He was pleased to hear disappointment in her voice. “I promised Jacob I would help him with clients today.”

Draco felt a growl of frustration fighting to break out of his chest. The last thing Hermione should be thinking about while in his arms was another man.

She could see something territorial flash in his eyes, but it did nothing to deter her. “He was the mentor I told you about that taught me everything I know about tattoos. Helping him here helps me keep my skills sharp.”

“Then he can have you today, but tonight…” He leaned in close so his lips hovered hear her ear, and his voice was a deep rumble in his chest. “Tonight you are mine.”

Shivers had goose-bumps crawling up her arms, and a wave of heat washed over her. Her words vanished. The only thing she was capable of thinking of was all the things she hoped would happen tonight.

The crooked grin he gave her told Hermione that he knew exactly what his voice was doing to her. He kissed her once more, a swift peck of the lips that left her wanting, and left the shop.

Hermione ruffled her hair and tried to calm her racing heart. Draco was going to be the death of her, she was sure of it.

Miranda came into the room with a wide smile on her face. “How did it go?”

“Don’t start,” Hermione said and pointed a finger at her friend. “I’m having dinner with him tonight, that’s all you need to know.”

“You’ll tell me when you’re ready,” Miranda said confidently. Hermione’s threating finger had done nothing to dampen her smile. “If I’m not allowed to ask questions, can I at least help you pick out your outfit?”

“Of course, but I promised I would help Jacob today.”

Miranda waved her hand dismissively. “He’ll be fine. This is far more important.” She ushered Hermione out of the room and herded her towards the stairs that led to her flat above the shop. “We need to make this man forget his own name when he sees you, and that takes time, love.”

Hermione laughed and felt some of her anxiety over her date begin to fade. She had no doubt Miranda was already planning an impromptu fashion show that would involve Hermione trying on no less than half of her closet. It would be a welcome distraction. Anticipation was slowly building inside her, and the only thing she could think about was Draco and what he had planned for her tonight.


	22. Chapter 22

To say Draco was nervous would be a drastic understatement.

He had cleaned his entire flat, top to bottom, no less than five times. He had completed all the paperwork from Malfoy Estate that needed his attention, and he had sent his house elf Millie to fetch fresh vegetables and spices to stock the kitchen with. He had changed his outfit more times than he cared to admit, and it was still too early to pick up Hermione.

Draco sank into the armchair before his fireplace and sighed. His impatience was getting the better of him. Tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair, he considered his flat once more. It was spotless; there was absolutely nothing left to occupy him. The clock ticked quietly on the wall. Draco’s knee bounced and his fingers continued tapping on the armrest.

“Sod it,” he said and leapt to his feet. Turning on his heel, he apparated to the alley across from White Wolf Designs.

Having already been to the shop earlier that morning, Draco made his way inside and allowed the bell over the door to announce his arrival. The front room was surprisingly empty. He could hear distant humming through one of the doors off to his left and faint voices upstairs. Draco pushed his fingers through his hair and tried to swallow against the lump in his throat. Sweet Merlin, he hoped this date went well. He needed a win.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs drew his attention, and Draco couldn’t help but smile.

Hermione descended the stairs, her heeled booties clicking softly against the wood. Her deep red knit sweater dress fell to her knees and hugged her figure perfectly. Soft brown curls fell around her shoulders, and the red tint to her lips had Draco licking his own. She tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled.

“Hi.” He realized he was whispering and said more firmly, “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She stopped in front of him, and he was once again surprised by how much shorter she was than him. Even in heels she had to tilt her head up to meet his gaze, and he couldn’t help but be amused. Allowing her eyes to wander over him, she said, “You look quite handsome.”

Draco smirked confidently, as though he hadn’t tried on far too many outfits before settling on this one. “Are you ready to go?”

Tugging on the hem of her dress, Hermione asked, “It’s a bit early. Have your house elves already started on dinner?”

“No, Millie has the night off. I’m going to be cooking for you.”

“You want to cook me dinner?” She tried not to sound too skeptical at is was a wonderful idea for a date, but the thought of pureblooded Draco Malfoy cooking for her was bordering on the absurd.

“Yes,” he answered simply. “Is that alright?”

“Of course.” Hermione tilted her head to one side and said, “I’m just surprised you can cook.” She had meant for it to sound like a teasing challenge, to appear as though this was something she believed herself to be far superior at. However, a shadow passed over his eyes and his shoulders tightened minutely, and she realized this was a misstep.

Draco fidgeted with his shirt cuff, as though the clothing that fit him so perfectly needed any adjusting, and he avoided her gaze. “My mother taught me to cook,” he said. His voice wasn’t necessarily cold, but the warmth that had previously been there was gone. He seemed guarded once more. “After our home had been… After those people lived with us, she had trouble sleeping at night. She would wander the manor for hours, avoiding the nightmares that haunted her. Eventually, she found her way into the kitchen and decided to learn how to cook. I joined her merely to keep her company, but she found comfort in our being together, so I attempted to learn with her. So yes, Hermione, I am now rather capable at cooking.”

She felt properly chastised. By now, she should know better than to accept the first obvious conclusion when it came to Draco. Nothing was ever as it seemed, and he never did anything without purpose. The thought of Draco and his mother, huddled in a kitchen in the middle of the night and attempting to learn such a muggle art brought a smile to her face. Taking his hand gently, she said, “I would love to cook dinner with you, Draco.”

He smiled down at her. The shadow in his gaze still remained, but it had faded somewhat. She was determined to make it vanish entirely.

Hermione grabbed her purse from the coat rack by the door, and they left the shop. She led Draco around the side of the building and into a small alley next door, tucked safely out of the view of any nearby muggles. She looked up at him expectantly and gently squeezed his hand. “Are you ready to apparate us to your flat?”

“Almost.” Taking hold of her hips, Draco backed her up against the alley wall. Cupping the back of her head to protect it from the harsh stone behind her, he pulled her up onto her tiptoes and kissed her. The firm press of his lips against hers pulled a soft moan from Hermione. The sound fueled Draco’s confidence and made his fingers tighten around her hip. He pulled away and smirked at the sigh that came from Hermione. Her eyes were closed, lips slightly parted, and her chest pressed against his as she tried to regain her breathing.

Her hand pulling the front of his shirt allowed her to steal one more kiss, and then he grinned down at her and said, “Okay, now I’m ready.” Draco wrapped his arms tightly around her and apparated them to his flat.

Hermione felt Draco’s hands firmly on her back helping to soothe the brief nausea apparating had caused. Taking a deep breath as the queasiness passed, she opened her eyes and eagerly took in her surroundings. She was immediately taken by surprise.

The steel blue walls were the last color she was expecting. Accented with rustic, walnut furniture and eclectic piles of books, the flat was truthfully similar to Hermione’s. There were bookshelves stuffed past full and tucked in every available corner with a large fireplace in the center of the room. It all gave the space a distinct feeling of home. She wandered the room slowly, taking in the moving pictures of the Slytherin trio on the mantel and the various book titles holding up a lamp. None of the gloomy aspects of the Slytherin dungeons had carried over into his flat, and there was no resemblance to the opulence of Malfoy Manor. And yet, the soft colors and organized clutter fit this new Draco Malfoy quite well. She felt Draco walk up behind her and turned to face him.

“What do you think,” Draco asked tentatively.

Hermione gave him a smile and assured him, “I think it’s quite cozy; I like it.”

Draco flashed her a grin. “This way to the kitchen,” he said. Placing the palm of his hand against the small of her back, he guided her towards the kitchen.

The kitchen was, in a word, formidable. It was a stark difference from the comfortable sitting room they had landed in. Stainless steel and void of color, the black and white space was pristine and very well-kept. Everything clearly had its place, and Hermione felt anxious to even look at the room too hard lest she disturb the careful organization of the place. She hesitated in the doorway and allowed Draco to slip past her.

The ease with which he moved around the kitchen and the comfortable air he gave off eased some of Hermione’s discomfort. She took a steadying breath and asked, “So what are we making?”

“I was thinking,” Draco said, his voice muffled as he stooped inside one of lower the cabinets. “We could make something easy but still delicious.” He reappeared holding a pan and wearing a large grin. “How does ratatouille sound?”

“Sounds perfect.” Hermione glanced around the kitchen and asked, “Where’s the cookbook?”

Draco stared at her blankly. “Cookbook?”

Assuming cookbooks were a muggle thing, Hermione explained, “Well, it’s similar to a potions book. It has recipes and instructions you follow to —”

“No, no, I know what a cookbook is.” Draco looked mildly insulted and waved the pan in his hand to emphasize his words. “However, cooking is _nothing_ like potions. Recipes are only recommended; half the fun is in the invention.”

“The invention?” Hermione asked incredulously. “You don’t just invent recipes, Draco. They’re already made for a reason.”

He set the pan on the counter and heaved a dramatic sigh. “Hermione, Hermione, Hermione…” He walked around behind her, took hold of her shoulders and guided her over to another cabinet mounted on the wall. He reached above her and opened it to reveal an overwhelmingly vast array of spices and ingredients. “If you’re going to learn to cook with me, you’re going to have to learn,” he wrapped his hands around her hips and leaned in, lips brushing against her ear and purred, “ _to loosen up a bit_.”

Hermione felt a shiver dance down her spine.

“Now,” Draco said; his tone was all business and commanded her attention easily. He would make a decent professor, she thought with amusement. “The key to multiple people working in the kitchen together is to always be aware of the other person.” He stepped away from her and went to gather the needed vegetables.

She cut her gaze away from the labels and over to Draco in time to catch his eyes sweeping her from head to toes and back again.

“You should always be aware of your partner’s movements so that you don’t run the risk of bumping into each other.” His intense gaze made her skin tingle. “In this sense, cooking is similar to dancing. Try not to step on my toes.”

Hermione nodded her understanding, missing the quip and not at all distracted by the way he practically prowled around the kitchen, gathering ingredients and utensils. “What do we need to prepare first?”

Draco hummed in thought and ran his gaze over the vegetables and spices they had set out on the counter.

She took the small moment to appreciate Draco in his element. His posture was relaxed yet confident; this was his domain and he knew it. He was the master of the kitchen, an artist before a blank canvas. Not for the first time, Hermione felt the itch to sketch him. Draco had been blessed with such paint-able features. She allowed her gaze to wander and took in his broad shoulders barely hidden by his black dress shirt. When he turned to speak, his silver lip piercing caught the warm lighting of the kitchen and nearly glowed. It reminded her to ask him back to the tattoo shop for another visit. She would tattoo him for free if he would only ask. Anything to put her designs on his flawless skin again.

“Hermione?”

“Hm? Sorry,” she mumbled while fighting the blush she could feel warming her cheeks. “Got lost in thought.”

Draco smirked at her and raised his eyebrows. “Anything interesting?”

“No, not really.”

Obviously not believing her, Draco stepped up close to her and asked, “If it’s nothing, why are you turning such a pretty shade of red?”

Which only made her blush harder. Ears burning, she scrambled for an excuse. “It’s, um, hot in here?” She cringed internally. That sounded too much like a question.

“Feels fine to me.” Draco’s eyes gazed into hers, searching for something she couldn’t name.

She sighed quietly when he looked away, grateful to be relieved of the heavy weight of his gaze. She suppressed the urge to fan herself.

Draco slowly held his hand up, palm facing her and said, “You have an eyelash on your cheek. I’m going to wipe it off for you, is that alright?”

Confused as to why he felt the need to ask for her permission to chase away an eyelash, Hermione nodded. She became even more confused, however, when he ever so slowly reached towards her face. So slowly that it almost seemed like he wasn’t moving at all.

His gaze was wary and searched her face, looking for any indication that she might, what? Run?

“You don’t have to approach me like a wild animal,” she chuckled. “I’m not going to bite you.”

A startled look passed over Draco’s face before embarrassment replaced it, and his hand stilled a hair’s breadth away from her cheek. “I’m sorry, Hermione, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just used to my mother…” He trailed off quietly, and that shadow returned to his eyes.

Hermione reached over and gently placed her hand against his and held it to her cheek. She offered him a smile that she hoped was reassuring and hid her whirlwind of thoughts. She couldn’t begin to imagine the things Draco and his mother had suffered while those demons had lived in their home, but she silently promised herself to protect Narcissa Malfoy from every man on the planet.

Draco gave her a small smile back and ran his thumb gently along her cheekbone. His eyes softened, their usually steely gray holding a tender look in them that she had never seen before. He allowed himself a few seconds to enjoy the peace of the moment before finally letting go of her cheek and clearing his throat. “Now then, dicing onions.”

Making a mental note to approach the topic at much later, more comfortable time, Hermione grabbed the knife from the counter enthusiastically. “Easy enough, it’s just like potions.”

He chuckled at her eagerness and used the tip of his finger to slowly lower the knife. “That’s wonderful. But first, you have to get the angle of the wrist right.” 

Hermione held the onion in one hand and knife in the other, then looked at Draco for approval. She had diced thousands of ingredients for potions classes and in the kitchen with her mum, but she had seen enough muggle films to know how this could play out. She kept her face perfectly innocent and held the hand at a rather sloppy angle.

He shook his head and critiqued, “You need to loosen your hold on the knife a bit.” He wrapped his arms around her and placed his hands softly over hers, guiding her fingers and wrist into the right positions. 

Hermione felt her body go perfectly still as every nerve became acutely aware of his proximity to her, and the skin where he touched her began to tingle. Her heart began to beat rapidly. “Like this?” she asked quietly.

“Perfect,” he breathed, lips barely brushing the side of her neck.

She gently set the knife down on the counter and, without turning her head, asked, “My wrist or me?”

He gently guided her to turn around with firm hands on her hips. “You,” he said clearly. There was no hesitation in his eyes. “You are perfect.”

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Hermione looked at her toes. “Far from it, actually.”

Gentle fingers under her chin tilted her face up so her gaze met his. He took a moment to make sure she was looking him in the eye before he whispered, “You are more than I ever thought to look for, and more than I could ever think to deserve. I have been nothing but terrible to you for _so long_ ,” his voice broke on the last two words as the weight of their history settled heavily on his shoulders. “Thank you for giving me so many chances.”

Hermione smiled softly and placed her hands against his chest. “You deserve all of them and more.”

This kiss was soft and sweet. So full of a lifetime of unspoken emotions and battles and heavy with promises. It was savored, committed to memory, and treasured. It was spun into a silvery strand of memory that was bound to be repeated endlessly in their minds.

And then it became so much more.

Hands in hair, bodies pressed close. Hermione’s chest heaved when she forgot to breathe, too caught up in this man who took her by surprise every chance he could.

Draco’s head spun as he held her tight, thanking every god he could name for creating such a perfect witch and for making her so forgiving. He kissed her deeply and passionately, aching to show her all the ways he was growing to care for her.

Dinner forgotten, Draco lifted her with ease and set her on an empty kitchen counter. He nudged her legs apart and moved to stand between them, quickly reclaiming her lips. He ran his fingers through Hermione’s soft curls then grabbed a handful of them at the back of her head. When he used it to deepen the kiss, Hermione made the most delicious sound he had ever heard, and he was determined to have her make it again.

Finally taking a moment to catch their breath, they pulled apart and rested their foreheads together.

In the quiet moment as they leaned against each other, Draco’s mind began to work in overtime. They hadn’t even eaten dinner yet, hadn’t even made the damn meal, and here he was with her on his kitchen counter. While he would never say no to Hermione Granger on his counter, this wasn’t how he intended for the night to go. The last thing he wanted was for Hermione to think she was a one night stand. He was supposed to be wooing her, seducing her, not ravishing her twenty minutes into their first date. This night was on its way to becoming yet another colossal failure.

As if she could sense his turmoil, Hermione held his face between her hands and gave him a stern look. “Don’t you dare take that back.”

He looked startled at her reprimand. “Take what back?”

“The kiss. Don’t you dare take it back because I won’t.”

“I just don’t want —”

“No,” she cut him off. “Don’t think my thoughts for me. I am a grown witch, Draco. If I want to make out with you on your kitchen counter, then I will. I will do as I damn well please.”

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again at a loss for words. There she went again, always taking him by surprise. Hermione had never been meek, but this confidence was so quiet yet so strong. Of course she would do as she pleased, who was he to dictate her decisions?

“If I didn’t want you, I wouldn’t be here.”

She looked so sure, so certain in her decision to be here with him. It erased every doubt he had. Breathing in deeply through his nose to try to settle his racing heart, he said carefully, “You are the most independent individual I have ever met.”

“Thank you,” she interrupted him, her voice full of pride.

He smiled at her and continued, “I know these last few weeks have been difficult, confusing, and rather embarrassing for both of us.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes at the memory of Blaise’s attempt at romance. Those doves would haunt her.

“I know our history is far from romantic,” he added, “but I want to do my best to move past it. I also know my history with women is less than kind.”

“That’s putting it lightly.” The smirk she gave him was Malfoy worthy and told him she was most certainly up-to-date on what the tabloids have reported about his bachelor behavior.

Draco lightly held a hand up over her mouth. “Please stop interrupting. You are making it quite difficult to get my thoughts together.” When she didn’t say anything else, he took his hand away.

“Is it my interrupting that’s making it difficult or,” she ran her fingertips lightly down his shirt, over his stomach, and felt his muscles twitch under her touch, “is it something else?”

He grunted quietly and grabbed both of her wrists. “ _Very distracting_.”

She smiled wickedly at him. “Do something about it.”

“I will,” he growled, “as soon as I finish.”

A shiver of anticipation danced down her spine. “Speak quickly then.”

Draco huffed. “All I was trying to say is that I want us to be exclusive. No other woman could compare to you.” His words were rather rushed as her fingers began toying with the buttons of his shirt. “Your kindness, your passion, your intelligence. You deserve everything incredible that this world has to offer. I only hope I can contribute to your happiness.”

The most beautiful smile Draco had ever seen lit up Hermione’s face. Her eyes glowed with barely concealed laughter. “Of course I want to date you, Draco. I thought that was quite obvious by my being here tonight.”

Pure bliss erupted through Draco, filling him with more happiness than he had felt in a very long time. He made a mental note to owl a thank you letter to his mother in the morning and leaned in to kiss Hermione again, but she turned her face to the side and he ended up kissing her cheek.

“I think there’s a place that is a somewhat more comfortable than the kitchen counter.”

Draco’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “The couch?”

Her beautiful laugh echoed through the kitchen. “No, Draco, the bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody else need a glass of water? Haha, but seriously I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I had a lot of fun writing it. As for next chapter, do you guys want me to bump the rating and uhh write the good stuff or time skip? Totally up to you guys, let me know in the comments! I hope you all have a fantastic weekend, and I will see you again next Thursday!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well the vote was unanimous, so here's the good stuff! If that makes you uncomfortable and you would rather not read it, feel free to shoot me a message and I can give you a chapter summary so you don't miss anything. Also, I have a lot of stuff happening in my personal life this coming week, so the next chapter may be a day or two late, but I will hopefully be able to get it done on time. Hope you all have a wonderful week!

Draco lifted Hermione from the kitchen counter and carried her to his bedroom, only stopping a few times along the way to push her against various pieces of furniture and kiss her. By the time they made it to his bedroom and her feet were firmly on the ground, her face was flushed and her chest was heaving with each breath.

Hermione wanted to explore his room because she believed such a personal space could say a lot about a person, but she was only able to notice soft shades of blues and grays before Draco’s lips were pressed to her neck and her eyes fell shut. Her fingers clutched at his shirt and pulled him closer to her, her head tilted back to give him more access to the tender skin beneath her ear. A soft moan slipped past her lips. Reluctantly pulling away from the sinful feeling of his lips, Hermione tried to disguise her erratic breathing by ruffling her hair and kicking off her shoes. Her heart was thundering in her ears.

Draco felt a fierce hunger begin to burn inside him as he watched Hermione and realized the opportunity laid out before him. He had only caught a glimpse of the tattoos he knew were hidden beneath Hermione’s clothes, and his fingertips were tingling from the need to strip her down and find them all.

“What?”

Hermione’s soft question pulled him from his thoughts, and he smiled. “I am a very lucky man.”

She blushed and bit her lower lip, an expression that was unintentionally sinful. The way he was looking at her made her toes curl. Before she could talk herself out of it, Hermione grabbed the hem of her top and pulled it up over her head. Discarding the shirt in the floor, she kept her gaze fixed firmly on Draco’s chest, staring intently at the buttons as she felt her courage swiftly leave her.

Draco kept his eyes trained on Hermione’s face and made sure they didn’t dip lower, despite how badly he wished to look. She was bashful and avoiding his gaze, so he stepped forward, settled his hands on her bare hips, and softly kissed her forehead. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he said quietly. “I won’t be disappointed or make you leave; we can go back to dinner.”

“No,” she said with a firm shake of her head. “I want this, I’m just… nervous.” She met his gaze despite the blush still burning on her cheeks and tried to smile confidently at him. It was a touch shaky, but he mentally applauded her resolve.

“Are you sure?”

She placed her hands against his chest and rose up on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Draco’s fingers twitched against her hips. “Can I…” He swallowed thickly and licked at his suddenly dry lips. “Can I see your tattoos?”

A sly grin slowly worked its way onto Hermione’s lips. “You really like tattoos, don’t you?”

“When they’re on someone as beautiful as you,” he said with a wink.

Hermione laughed and, feeling much more at ease, stripped off her pants and socks. She stood before him in her underwear feeling a bit more comfortable under his heated gaze now that she knew how enthralled he was by the ink on her skin. She was so grateful that Miranda had talked her into wearing her matching blue set of lingerie, it made her feel confident standing before him. “Do you want me to give you a tour,” she asked with a cheeky grin.

“No, love. I think I’ll take my time, plot my own course, and you can give me a history lesson on each one.” Draco brushed her hair back off her shoulders and traced his fingers gently down her arms. His hand wrapped around her left wrist, and he lifted her arm to closer examine her sleeve. He had seen it before during his very first tattoo appointment, but he still said, “Tell me about this one.”

The colorful flowers spread from her wrist up to her bicep where they grew smaller and faded into her skin. Soft shades of orange, purple, red, and white merged into a garden on her skin that framed the magical scarring on her inner forearm, the word ‘mudblood’ still appearing as a freshly carved wound despite the years that had passed since she had received it.

“It was my first one. Jacob gave it to me. I let him choose the design, but decided to keep the scar as a reminder of what I have conquered.” She knew it was a bad idea to say another man’s name in Draco’s bedroom, but she couldn’t resist. The territorial expression that flashed through his eyes was worth it.

“Did he give you all of them?” His voice came out low and gruff, and it spread goosebumps down her arms.

She mutely shook her head and waited for him to pick the next tattoo, her skin tingling as he traced his fingertips over her. Hermione sighed quietly in disappointment when he released her arm.

Draco must have heard her because the smile he gave her was overwhelmingly arrogant. He swiftly unbuttoned his shirt and discarded it into the floor. He kicked off his shoes and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes roved over Hermione’s body, looking at her like a gift he was deciding how to unwrap. Brushing his fingers over her ribs, he watched her stomach muscles tighten and a shiver subtly make her body quiver. “I’ve seen this one before.”

Hermione looked down at the names tattooed against her ribs and nodded. His fingers were barely an inch beneath her bra, and she was incredibly aware of how soft his touch was. She wanted him to grab her, to stop being so gentle, to hurry up and stop going so damn slow.

“And this one?” Draco’s fingers trailed across the front of her left thigh, and Hermione choked on something that felt suspiciously like a moan. He traced the wing of the phoenix tattooed there, and she tried to keep her thigh muscles from twitching.

“It’s for new beginnings and the Order of the Phoenix.” Her voice was breathy, and she could feel her heart beating almost painfully hard in her chest. She tried to keep her breathing steady so he wouldn’t know how much his touch was affecting her.

He walked behind her and brushed her curls over her right shoulder so he could see that tattoo on the back of her left shoulder. Draco had seen just a glimpse of it the night of Madam Rosmerta’s party, but the curiosity of it had stuck with him. He wasn’t disappointed.

A snow white wolf stared back at him with piercing blue eyes. Behind it was a misty mountain landscape with a crescent moon hung overhead and dark pine trees growing beneath the wolf. As he watched, the wolf’s lips peeled back into a silent snarl, and wispy clouds began to float past the moon.

“Draco,” Hermione whispered softly, and the wolf returned to its solemn expression.

“Hold still, darling. I’m not finished yet.” He leaned down to place a soft kiss against her back, a breath away from the wolf tattoo, and murmured against her skin, “Tell me about this one.”

Hermione swallowed thickly. She had far too many tattoos for them to go through. At this rate, she would lose her sanity before he lost his pants. “Miranda gave me that one when I officially joined White Wolf Designs’ staff; she had a matching one on her right shoulder. I put charms on it later so the wolf was expressive and the clouds moved.” She exhaled a slow breath and rolled her shoulders to release at least a small bit of the tension in her body. “The runes going down my spine are similar to the ones I gave Luna. Theo actually gave me those. They’re charmed for protection, strength, endurance, and healing.”

Draco bristled at the idea of Theo seeing Hermione’s naked back. He pressed his hand against her back and dragged it down her skin, following the path of the runes from the top of her spine down to the small of her back, just above the waistband of her underwear. He made a frustrated clicking sound with his tongue against his teeth and said, “Theo gave you these.”

Hermione tried to answer but the words got stuck in her mouth when she felt the clasp of her bra come undone. The blue lace fell down her arms and into the floor to join the rest of her clothing. She felt Draco’s knuckles trace back up her spine, this time unhindered by clothing, and shivered when his hand settled on the back of her neck.

“Merlin, you’re beautiful.” He breathed the words against the back of her shoulder, and it caused her face to flush. “I want to absolutely devour you.”

Her eyes drifted closed as his thumb began massaging the side of her neck. His other hand held her hip firmly and pulled her back against his chest. His skin was deliciously warm against her own, and she sighed as her head lolled back against his shoulder. “Draco.”

“One more.” He kissed her shoulder in between each word, slowly working his way closer to her ear. “Just one more, love.” 

His hand slid up from her hip to cup her breast, and she moaned quietly. The sound felt too loud in the silent room, and she started to shy away from him.

“Hermione.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her firmly against his chest. “I want you to be comfortable, and if at any time you get overwhelmed, tell me. We can stop at any time.”

Hermione tilted her head up so she could look at him and smiled. “I’m okay. Just… feeling a lot of things.”

Draco nodded in understanding and planted a kiss against the top of her head. “What do you need from me?”

She turned around in his arms, her chest pressed tightly against his so he didn’t have the chance to see her. She gazed up at him for several moments, admiring his soft hair and sharp features, before she said, “Take off your pants.”

His eyebrows raised, and his eyes widened. “Pardon?”

“Take off your pants, Draco. I want to even the field.”

Not needing to be told more than twice, Draco took a step back from her and began removing his socks and pants. He tried not to blatantly stare at her chest, but it was quite difficult. He met her gaze and was relieved to find desire burning in her eyes. He let his eyes drift over her body; they lingered on her tattoos and the heat in his core began burning through him. Licking his lips, he asked, “Did I miss any?”

“Just one.” Hermione pushed on his shoulders and backed him up until he sat down on the bed. She swatted his hands away when they immediately reached for her breasts and pursed her lips at him. “Patience.”

“I have none,” he said immediately and reached for her again.

She batted his hands away again and laughed. “Clearly.” When he finally braced his hands on the mattress and leaned back, Hermione lifted her right foot and rested it on his thigh. Inked over the arch of her foot was the word ‘ohana’ in beautiful cursive lettering. It was distinctly muggle and very simple, but it was one of her favorites.

Draco gripped her ankle lightly and furrowed his brow at the unfamiliar word. He wasn’t even going to bother pronouncing it. “What does it mean?”

“It means family.” She tilted her head to the side and considered him carefully before adding, “Jacob gave me that one, too.”

The growl that rumbled in Draco’s chest lit a fire in her veins. He grabbed her hips and tossed her on the bed, quickly crawling over her and kissing her before she could catch her breath. He wanted to kiss her until she forgot Jacob’s name, until she forgot every name but his own. His hands roamed her body, tracing her full curves and worshiping every inch of her. He felt intoxicated.

Hermione melted into his touch and lost herself in the feel of his skin on hers. Her entire body was attuned to his every movement, and his keen touch left her breathless. She couldn’t get enough of him.

The rest of their clothing was discarded in a rush of movement. After checking to make sure she was ready, to which Hermione expressed her impatience, Draco kissed her fiercely and finally slid his cock inside her.

Digging her hands into his hair, Hermione’s back arched and her toes curled. She felt as though all of the air had been knocked from her lungs. She moaned his name which earned her a responding groan from Draco.

“Say it again.”

She tried to focus on his face, but her eyes fought to roll back into head as his hips picked up their pace.

“Hermione.” He slowed to a near stop, and she whimpered. Draco gently grabbed her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. “Say my name again.”

“Draco,” she breathed into his ear, and the shudder that wracked Draco’s body was gloriously rewarding. She said his name again and again as he set a swift pace, his hips snapping against hers. She felt that cliff’s edge, that precipice rushing towards her. She was so close. “Draco, please.”

Finally the tension snapped and she came with a keening sound she'd never heard herself make before. Her back arched, and Draco's hips stuttered as he chased his own release. Their ragged breathing echoed through the room, and he collapsed on top of her.

Her mind drifted, blissfully quiet and aware of nothing but the euphoria coursing through her veins. He slid into bed behind her and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her in close. She curled into him and fell asleep in his arms.

The next morning Hermione woke slowly, languidly stretching her limbs and enjoying the feeling of having nowhere to be. Her smile vanished from her face, however, when her hand rested on the cool and, more importantly, empty mattress beside her. She sat up quickly, curls wild and eyes angry.

That son of a bitch.

She was ready to throw back the sheets and make a swift exit when the bedroom door creaked open. In walked Draco, arms laden with the most enormous breakfast tray she had ever seen. Hermione gawked at him. He had to have been up for hours to make that much food. She instantly felt guilty; of course he hadn’t left her.

He gave her the most dashing smile as he gingerly set the tray down next to her on the bed. “I didn’t know what you liked,” he confessed, his smile turning sheepish. “So I made a bit of everything.”

“A bit?” she laughed. “I feel like a queen.”

“As you should,” he said with a wink.

She blushed prettily and began eating. Hermione hummed quietly at how delicious the food was and enjoyed the way Draco’s eyes widened slightly at the sound. “So,” she said while slowly licking her fingers clean. Draco’s cheeks flushed slightly, his eyes transfixed. “What do you want to do today?”

“Whatever your heart desires.”

As it turned out, Hermione’s heart desired a trip to her tattoo shop. Although he was somewhat disappointed, Draco was not at all surprised.

After finishing their breakfast, and only getting distracted a few times in between, they managed to finally get dressed and apparate to Hermione’s flat so she could freshen up. The last thing she needed was to parade around in yesterday’s outfit. They then apparated to Diagon Alley and slowly made their way through the streets to Virago.

Draco was keenly aware of the people watching them and tried to keep a bit of distance between Hermione and himself, but every time he would drift away from her, Hermione would walk back up to his side and bump her shoulder against his arm. She was either oblivious to the staring or didn’t care, and he was grateful for it.

When they were nearly to her shop, Hermione laced her fingers through Draco’s and flashed him a bright smile. “Thanks for coming with me.”

He squeezed her hand, despite the suffocating feeling in his chest that told him to walk the other way, and tried to return her smile.

“It doesn’t bother me,” she said softly. He almost didn’t hear the words over the hustle and bustle of the Alley. “They can stare all they like; I couldn’t care less.”

Draco stared down at her in shock, but Hermione kept walking at a sedate pace with a soft smile on her lips looking for all the world like an average young witch out for a walk with her wizard. “They’re probably just jealous,” he said. He tried to keep his tone light and unaffected, but the stress of the public eye had his jaw clenching tightly shut, and the words came out rather clipped.

“Jealous?” She peered up at him and frowned. “Of me or you?”

“Both,” he answered with a smug expression. “We’re easily the most attractive couple in Diagon Alley.” He thought he heard her mutter the word ‘couple’ to herself, but they arrived at Virago’s front door before he could mention it.

Hermione opened the door to the shop, and they were immediately greeted by a cacophony of noise inside.

Ginny was racing around the room with her wand, firing spells at a small blur that was darting about the ceiling. Theo was running after her, yelling at her to stow her wand and something about killing his companion. Luna, seemingly unaffected by the chaos, was flipping through one of Hermione’s portfolios and signing a rather off-key rendition of a Wicked Sister’s song.

Draco blinked at the pandemonium before them and immediately said, “We should go back to my flat before they notice us.”

“Hermione,” Ginny shouted, much to Draco’s disappointment. “You have a blasted pixie in the shop, and Nott won’t leave me alone to get rid of it.”

“Not a pixie,” Luna sang, seamlessly blinding the words into the melody of the song. “He tried to tell you it’s not a pixie.”

“For Salazar’s sake,” Theo shouted back at Ginny. “It’s just Widget.”

Ginny pointed her wand at him this time and demanded, “What the bloody hell is a widget?”

“A hummingbird.” Hermione walked into the room, carefully lowered Ginny’s wand, and put a comforting hand on Theo’s shoulder. “Widget is a hummingbird and a welcome guest in my shop, so please put your wand away.”

Theo made a sound of exasperated relief to which Ginny responded with a rather foul gesture.

“Manners, Ginevra,” Luna said without looking up from the book.

Draco finally made his way through the room and came to stand beside Luna. He watched Ginny and Theo begin to bicker and Hermione attempt to moderate, and he had the distinct feeling of being back in school and watching a professor lecture rambunctious students. He glanced to Luna and asked, “How long have they been at this?”

Luna glanced up and shrugged. “An hour or so, I think.” She looked over to Draco and stared at him for several moments, just long enough to make him squirm. “How was your date?”

He couldn’t help the smile that quickly pulled at his lips. “It was good,” he tried to say casually. “We had fun.”

“I bet you did,” Luna said with a sly grin. She bumped her shoulder against his and said, “Good for you. You deserve happiness, Draco.”

Draco leaned against the front desk and looked back towards Hermione, trying to hide his smile in the palm of his hand. The feeling that bloomed in his chest just from looking at her scared him. The way she was gesturing as she lectured her two friends, the way her hair was piled haphazardly atop her head, the way her sweater clung to her curves in all the right ways. She was breathtakingly beautiful.

Feeling his eyes on her, Hermione glanced his way and flashed him a smile.

“You two will struggle, there will be obstacles, but it will be worth it,” Luna said quietly.

He was fairly certain that Luna was some sort of seer, but before he could ask what she knew, Widget flew over and perched on the hand he had resting on the top of the front desk. The little hummingbird ruffled its feathers and puffed itself up a few times before settling further between Draco’s knuckles.

“Traitor,” Theo whispered loudly. He looked truly betrayed by the little bird and glared fiercely at Draco. “How dare you.”

“Sorry, mate.” Draco shrugged and looked anything but apologetic. “I can’t help being more likable.”

Hermione snorted and said, “I hardly think that’s why Widget landed there.”

Draco met her gaze and smiled seductively. “Do you think he likes my hands?”

She blushed and quickly looked away, and Draco was pleased to see the way she tried to subtly shift her weight. She was so easy to fluster.

“Get a room,” Ginny called loudly which earned her a loud shushing sound from Luna and caused Hermione’s face to turn an even darker shade of red.

Theo raised his eyebrows at Draco, as though asking for an explanation, but Draco ignored him in favor of winking at Hermione.

Muttering some excuse about paperwork, Hermione quickly left the room and shut herself in her office.

“Well, that’s enough sexual tension for my liking.” Ginny glared at Draco as she made her way over to the front desk and grabbed Luna’s hand. Dragging Luna from the shop, she called over her shoulder, “Break her heart, and I break your face, Malfoy.”

Draco waved cheerfully to the girls as they left and chuckled at the rude gesture Ginny gave him on her way out the door.

“You really have a way with witches,” Theo said sarcastically. “It’s a wonder Hermione didn’t fall for you sooner.”

“Sod off.” Draco pushed up from the desk and carefully transferred Widget from his hand to Theo’s shoulder. “Tell Hermione I’m off to visit Mother, and I’ll be back by to see her later.”

“I’m not a bloody owl.”

Draco patted Theo on the shoulder that wasn’t occupied by a bird. “Thanks, mate.”

When he had told himself he should visit his mother more often, Draco had not anticipated seeing her three times this week. And yet, there he was, sat down for tea with Narcissa and carefully avoiding her gaze. Narcissa sipped her tea and gazed out over her flowers. She hid her anticipation well, but Draco could see the curiosity lighting her eyes every time she looked at him. He sighed quietly and took a sip of his tea. It did nothing to ease his discomfort. He shifted in his chair but then froze when he heard Narcissa speak.

“It’s very unlike you to fidget, darling.” The corners of her mouth twitched as she sipped her tea, her silver eyes dancing with amusement. “Something on your mind?”

He sighed again and decided to just get it over with. “You were right,” he mumbled into his tea cup. It was his least favorite thing to say, especially to his mother. His pride ached at the gloating smile that came over her face. It wasn’t cruel, Narcissa simply enjoyed always being right.

“Draco, I can’t understand you when you mumble,” she goaded with a sweet smile. “We’ve talked about this.”

Draco sent her a small glare with very little fire behind it which did little to phase her and said again, this time more clearly, “You were right, Mother.”

“I was, wasn’t I?” She set her empty tea cup down and sent a pointed look between Draco and the tea kettle.

He rolled his eyes at her smug tone and reached to pour her another cup of tea.

“She enjoyed the dinner then?”

Draco fought against the faint blush that tried to rise to his cheeks and kept his gaze carefully fixed on the tea set. “Yes, she did,” he lied smoothly. There was no bloody way he was going to explain to his mother why dinner had to be postponed.

But she was his mother and a Slytherin, so she saw right through him. “Draco, it is impolite to lie over tea.”

“As opposed to other times?” He smiled apologetically when she frowned at him and said, “We had a wonderful time.”

She raised her eyebrows at him and let him squirm a few moments longer, laughing to herself at how easy it was to cause him discomfort. It wasn’t every day Draco let his mask slip, and he was exceptionally easy to read this morning. Taking pity on him, she changed the subject. “You should invite her to our Samhuinn dinner.”

Draco nearly dropped the milk. “Pardon?”

“Surely you haven’t forgotten, Draco. Samhuinn is in only a few weeks, and I plan on having our traditional dinner in the Manor gardens.”

“And you want me to invite Hermione?”

Narcissa could see the glimmer of hope in his eyes, hope that she would be so easily accepting of his new relationship with Hermione. Despite her advice and encouragement, Lucius had instilled enough fear in him that Draco had doubted his parents would ever truly accept her, and it filled Narcissa with overwhelming disappointment. She took a moment to truly look at her son. He was relaxed, she could see the stress had faded from the corners of his eyes and been replaced with a genuine happiness that she had been waiting to see returned to his face. His shoulders weren’t stiff, as though that seemingly permanent weight upon them had been alleviated just a bit. Perhaps Hermione wasn’t the woman she had anticipated Draco finding, after all that Greengrass girl had been quite determined when they were younger, but she would be damned if anyone took that happiness from him again.

Besides, if anyone could keep him in line and match his intellect, it would be that witch.

“Of course I am sure. Your friends have already agreed to attend, although their parents were less than inclined.” She paused only a moment, the broken ties between old friends still weighing on her. “I see no reason why we shouldn’t invite your new witch as well. It will be just the six of us this year. Dinner will be in the gardens, so there will be no reason for her to go inside the Manor.”

Draco smiled gratefully. It wasn’t explicitly said, but they both remembered quite clearly what had happened inside their Manor, and they had no doubts that Hermione would be opposed to entering their home any time soon. Neither of them wanted her to relive those memories.

“How are the renovations?”

Narcissa’s smile was beautiful and enthusiastic as she began describing the changes she was making to the manor. The grounds themselves would stay the same, especially her gardens, but by the time she was done she expected the inside to look like an entirely new and unrecognizable Manor. He tried to listen patiently as his mother described the difference between the color palettes she had chosen, but his thoughts were entirely occupied by Hermione and when he would see her next.


End file.
